Something New
by inopinion
Summary: Breaking up is as quick as shattering glass. Getting back together is like gluing each piece in place with cut fingers. Four, Tris, angst.
1. CH1: Clean break

**AN: Editing wizardry provided by Milner.  
**

Four let the weight of the day wash off of him as he stepped into the facility, past the abandoned guard gate and down the hall. He was keenly aware of the sideways glances Zeke threw him as they walked past the empty stations and still equipment into the atrium area without explanation, Christina in tow.

A few clumps of disoriented people wandered here and there, a good sign that everything went to plan; he was relieved. Cara -with a bruise on her face and bandage on her head- stood from a bench with her lips pursed and approached.

"What is it?" Four asked. When she didn't meet his eyes, it set off alarms in his chest. He quickened his pace towards her. Her face was so out of place with the success of the job that it had to mean something went wrong. "Where's Tris?"

"I'm sorry, Tobias." She started softly.

"Sorry about what? Tell us what happened!" Christina demanded, grabbing her arm.

"Tris went into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb. She survived the death serum, and set off the memory serum, but she...she was shot." Her voice began to falter and Four's heart raced. Cara looked down, unable to meet either of their eyes. "They don't think she'll make it."

"Where is she?" He demanded, swallowing hard, trying to get purchase in his vocal cords. "Where is she?"

"She's in the hospital wing, they're making her as comfortable as they can."

She called after him, but he was already sprinting, Christina as fast on his heels as she could manage.

Zeke held his mother as they approached Cara, carefully, but with their own purpose. "Do you know where my brother, Uriah, is?" Cara wiped a tear off her face and started a much slower pace through the compound.

The nurse explained slowly and clearly, holding Four's attention and his body outside of the room. He said that she had lost too much blood and that she was deprived of oxygen. He said she had swelling in her brain and damage to her liver. He said that there were four wounds to her torso- two that exited out her front and one on the side, and one that had yet to be retrieved. She'd also lost her spleen and part of her small intestine.

He also informed him that her next of kin provided blood and had the sole responsibility and authority to make decisions on her behalf. Caleb sat in the corner of her room eying over her charts and cross referencing with a book. He looked up, stunned to see Four staring back at him, and he chewed his lip looking just like her.

Four glared at him -jaw trembling, fists clenched- but his feet were planted like statuary. He couldn't hear the discussion inside the room between Caleb, the nurse, and the doctor. He saw the flash of lights on and off, the gesticulation of the nurse explaining the forms, and Caleb's nervous glances back out at him. Nervous because he could kill him; nervous that he would.

"He killed him, you know." Cara offered, arriving to check on him. "He killed David. Then he saved her."

"He wouldn't have had to if he'd done his part." Four seethed.  
"She wouldn't let him." Cara put a hand on his arm and he shook it off. The touch too familiar, too warm in his coldness.

"She made him stay behind."

"If he cared about her at all, he wouldn't have let her." He stubbornly and irrationally rationalized.  
"Do you really think that? Or is it just who she is?" Cara reminded him, and he felt guilty for doubting her, again.

But she had promised, and her presence in that bed was proof she had broken that promise. In this moment, black and white was all he could manage.

Caleb signed a sheet of paper and Four punched a wall; the crumbling gypsum flaked around his shoes. He stalked off to avoid strangling Caleb, and circled back after climbing up and back down the stairs. Caleb was sitting outside her door -his face in his hands and his eyes red and swollen- waiting for him. Cara sat near by, a security officer just past her. Four knew why. He stood in front of Caleb, arms crossed, waiting for his verdict.

"I'm going to wait five days, then re-evaluate." His voice broke on the last word. "I just want to see if the swelling goes down, if brain activity resumes." Four nodded his head.  
"Just another experiment." He spat spitefully.

"No." Caleb softly mumbled, "I don't have anything left without her. I need to give her a chance to come around, to prove them wrong. She usually does."

"It should be you."

Four stepped past him and into the room, taking a seat by her side and pushing her hair out of her face. The tubes breathed for her, the IV hydrated her, the blanket warmed her, but his hand was the only thing there that could comfort her. So he placed it inside her limp and cold fingers and rubbed warmth back in, willing life itself to transfer.

Caleb hovered near the door, just to say one thing. "She wanted me to tell you that she didn't want to leave you." He couldn't jump fast enough to avoid Four's lunging hands that pushed him out of the door way before shutting him out.

That night and the next day was a blur of routines.

The nurses came in to change catheter bags and Ivs; to feed her through a tube in her stomach; to clear her airway; to change the bandages on her sutures; to swap linens.

Four woke up in the chair by her side, stiff, and ate something Cara brought to him in the hallway. He walked and paced for two hours afterwards while Caleb held her hand.

Sometimes he ran until he could taste iron in his mouth and his gums hurt. Then he would return to the rhythmic beeps that kept her alive, studying her. His mind started to play tricks on him, that she wiggled her nose or the blankets moved. But each time he'd focus on what was in the corner of his eye, stillness would shatter his hopes.

Day two and the routine continued, only to be interrupted by Christina coming to pull his attention to another vigil down the hall.

They said goodbye to Uriah, his family around him to watch him go. Four and the others stood in the hallway, holding on to each other. Zeke and Hana stayed for just a few hours before Amar shuttled them back into the city.

Zeke never said goodbye to any of them -never even made eye contact- just rushed out behind Amar to the truck. But Hana lingered, thoughtfulness behind her puffy eyes. She stepped in front of Four, held out her hands to touch his arms, then pulled him into an embrace. "I hope she pulls through." She smiled weakly, and left. Four felt unworthy.

Day four came after an uneventful day three, and the new routine started.

Twice a day, electrodes were hooked to her head at Caleb's insistence. Little waves popped up every so often, but the technician just called them noise. It made Four nervous to think they could overlook something; that they could pull the plug and kill her.

It became his overwhelming thought, and when his daydreams floated into nightmares, the source for his restless sleep. The third time on day five, Four stood in the corner while the nurse haphazardly placed the pads on her skull, the smell of her morning coffee permeating the room.

"Do they hurt her?" He asked. He hadn't stayed for the experiments the last time, the room too small for him and Caleb, but Caleb wasn't here yet.

"Oh, these? No, not really. It might pull her hair a little when we take them out, though." She started to place with more precision, like she needed the reminder that Tris was still a human worthy of her attention. It made him angry.

The technician followed a few minutes later with a machine on a cart, connecting the cables to each probe, and powered it on. "Let's see, Ms. Prior." He spoke to her gently; how Four would prefer for her to be talked to.

"Sometimes, they respond to things they hear," he explained as he smiled at Four. Not with the pity of the nurses, no, but with the hope of an optimist. "Do you talk to her?"

"Me, no, not really." He admitted, sitting down to take her hand.

"Why not give it a try?"

He swiveled the monitor so that Four could read it. "Each one of these lines is a probe, this is the normal noise of her central nervous system. What makes her heart beat and stuff. So anything that blips up..."

"What should I say to her?" He asked. The lines jumped and he squeezed her hands. "Like that? They move like that?" and the lines jittered again.  
"She must like your voice." The technician played with some knobs, "She doesn't respond nearly as much when I'm talking. Say something else to her."

Four couldn't help but blush. Public displays weren't something they'd had time to settle into, but facts had started to become more than just a goal between them. They had promised they would never lie.

"Tris, today is the last day -today is the day- to wake up. To move or squeeze my hand. There may not be a tomorrow." He paused and looked up on the screen to see the pulsing up and down and the technician smiling. "Is that real? Is it real? Is she still here?"

"I think so." He nodded, "Maybe she just needed time for the swelling to go down. Keep talking to her. Might be what she needs to come back."

He started to write up notes, and then exited to file a report of positive signs of significant brain activity.

"You have never scared me more." Four put his lips on her hand and let the relief spread over him. "What have you been waiting for? What are you still waiting for? Just a squeeze of my hand, your right hand. Just squeeze."

But nothing, no motion. He tried to think of something to say, but there just wasn't much that didn't make him feel silly or embarrassed. He half started with talking about his childhood, but that only made him angry.

Then he thought about some of the things she hadn't been apart of during the last raid, only to feel irritated at her lies. He eventually settled into something he'd only thought about thinking about; he talked about a future. It was a picture with alot of gaps, but a future with her and their friends and a world where they could be all of who they are.

Day seven- her brain waves had been steady whenever anyone talked, and the swelling was nearly gone. She moved restlessly in her sleep, and they made the decision to remove the tube in her throat to see if she could breath on her own.

Christina held Four's hand and gripped his shoulder, holding him up. Cara stood next to Caleb who signed the sheet, and then held Tris's hand as they separated the tubing, waiting for her chest to rise. All of them let out a sigh with her first breath.

Day eight- while Caleb had read to her from a medical journal about physical therapy for head injuries, she opened her eyes and thrashed in a fit, disoriented. A team of people flooded into the room to rapid fire questions at her, with blink twice or blink once and did she know her name. They were able to determine that she seemed unaffected by the memory serum, but Cara pointed out that she wouldn't have put in the code if she'd been wiped so the whole fiasco seemed unnecessary and over tiring.

Day nine- she kept her eyes open for an hour at a time, but only responded with slow blinks. When Four reached out for her hand, she pulled back and looked away from him.

The first time, Christina teased him about his lack of shaving, and he immediately corrected his appearance, not wanting anything to confuse her. But again, she pulled away, and tears dripped down pooling against her nose. He stood just outside the door, watching as everyone else asked her questions, read to her, or just held her hand through the painful routines.

"She doesn't know who you are, she probably can't see you clearly." Christina offered, but he knew just as well as she did that her actions were deliberate.

"I don't care, as long as she keeps making progress," he lied, and took a run around the facility.

Day eleven- she had uttered slow and hoarse words and asked for Caleb; they talked quietly for hours.

Caleb told the others that she mainly asked about books they read as children; the name of the characters, the plot points, the progression of the English curriculum. He had asked her about Four; did she remember him? Did she know who he was? Would she talk to him? She just shook her head and stopped responding, falling asleep quickly.

Day twelve- she had spoken with Christina and Cara and avoided his glances from the hallway. She asked if they would ask him to leave. They reduced her pain medication, and she screamed out uncontrollably when they didn't overlap them appropriately. He sat five feet outside her door, outside of her view, and cringed helplessly on the floor as she shrieked. When she stopped, he settled into the chair next to her bed; she avoided his eyes and fought sleep.

"Tris, I get that you're mad at me, the feeling's mutual." He started. "You weren't supposed to get hurt. You were supposed to stay alive."

"Leave." She whispered.

"It's okay, I'm getting over it, but this silent treatment isn't helping." He reached out to rub her arm, "I mean, you know why I'm pissed with you, but I don't get why your pissed with me. In either case, we can work through this."

"Just leave." She sighed and closed her eyes.  
"No." All the confusion became anger, and it was hard for him to hold his temper in check when he was so tired. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell I did so I can fix this."

She glared at him, but couldn't hold his stare. "Just leave."

Day thirteen- he had barely slept and she still wouldn't see him, so he formulated his own plan in his head.

It was clear to him that she was making a cognizant decision to exclude him from her life. He thought back on every thing they had ever said. He thought about his threat and her promise; it sat like a pit in his stomach. But it didn't make sense that she was rejecting him when she was the one that broke her promise to stay alive.

He was certain by dinner that he couldn't sit outside her door for the rest of her life. He had to go somewhere where he couldn't act on his masochistic compulsion to be rejected over and over.

"It's so strange." Christina shook her head, "She won't explain anything to me. To Caleb, to Cara. No one." She rubbed his arm a little, but he couldn't take the affection and pulled back. He rubbed his face instead, his hands shaking. He had made his decision.

Day fourteen- he had come from a shower and a nap. Not enough sleep, but he woke with a determination.

Instead of going straight to her room or the hallway outside, he stepped down to the commissary and calmly gathered new clothes -or gently used- since he couldn't afford much.

He crinkled his nose at the blue denim and white shirts that were available. It felt foreign to think about wearing colors. He found a warm knit sweatshirt and a heavy corduroy coat. Lastly, he found a pair of stiff new black boots with a tough sole and thick socks.

Amar was waiting outside the shop for him to step out. "Quite the shopping spree," he teased. "Heard Tris is coming along."

"Yeah, seems to be," he admitted, not really wanting to talk. But then a thought occurred to him.

"Hey, I hear there's a bus leaving for Milwaukee today."

"Yeah." Amar looked at him strangely. "Why?"

"I need to be on it. Gotta move on. Get out of here, clear my head."

"I didn't realize she was ready to travel." He smiled broadly, only Four wasn't smiling with him.  
"Just me," he commented.

"What's going on?"

"She asked me to go." He shrugged, "She's pissed at me for something, must have fucked up big." He swallowed hard, "Anyways, there's no life for me here. So I gotta be on that bus."

"Four-"

"Just, Amar, please. How do I get on that bus?"

He found her room empty and her eyes open, examining her fingers and the IV in her arm. He gathered his courage and stepped into the room. She glared at him, then looked away.

"Hi, Tris," he initiated loud and clear so he knew for absolute certainty she knew he was there. She pursed her lips.

"I know I make you uncomfortable." A hint of contorted pain crossed her face. "We used to love each other, and I get that it's not true for you anymore." His voice cracked and the tears came down his face, "So, I'm going." He shook his head, wiping snot from his nose on his sleeve.

"I'll let you be. I'll let you live how ever you want. Just promise me that you'll live a good life," he insisted. "Look at me, and promise." She raised her eyes to his, tears on her cheeks too.

She reached out and touched his hand with her fingers, hesitated, then laid her palm fully in contact and nodded silently. He wanted to leave his hand warmed by her, touched by her. But he swallowed and stood, turned, and didn't look back.

Christina was hovering in the hallway, concern written all over her face. "What are you doing?"

"What ever she wants." He smiled a sour smirk and pulled on his coat. "Take care of her and take care of yourself." He hugged her, almost too hard and certainly unexpectedly.

"Where are you going?"

"There's a bus leaving for Milwaukee, wherever that is." He banged his fist on the hallway wall as he walked down. "I'll write you when I get there."

In threes fast steps, she was in Tris' doorway. "What are you doing? You can't just let him leave like that," Christina begged her.

"It's better if he goes."

"He doesn't want to go. He wants to help you. Stay here and take care of you."

"He needs to go." She wiped her face. "It's not good for him here."

"What?" Christina exclaimed. "He loves you. He really, really loves you, and you're going to let that just walk away? Seriously, you almost died, I don't think you should be making decisions like this."

"I'm not asking you to understand." She stated, then pulled the blankets up.

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	2. CH2: Hiding in a New Routine

**AN: Editing wizardry provided by Milner.  
**

A/N: chapter edited to better delineate the passage of time and discrete events inside that time frame. And trimmed down for word count.

November - January

The bus took over eighteen hours and a multitude of stops to shuffle fourteen people up the bumpy and ill kept road. Four chose his seat because it was surrounded by empty rows; all he wanted was to sit and be alone. But Rafael, a newly wiped kid about his age, seemed incapable of reading social signals and took the seat directly in front of him. He twisted to sit sideways on the bench and found an easy and captive audience in Four.

"I heard that Milwaukee has a colder winter," he jabbered, "But better women. There aren't a lot of women in the Bureau. At least not ones that seemed to like me." He laughed amiably. "Do you have a girl back home? I don't. Can't seem to remember why though."

At least the constant monologue demanded little of his own participation as he watched the countryside turn over out the window.

"All I know is that I had this itinerary circled on a calendar, so I hope someone's there to direct us when we get there. Like are we on a list or something?"

"There's a work office we have to find and sign up there," Four confirmed. "They don't have a lot of laborers in Milwaukee." As he explained, he sounded like he had some authority, but he was merely regurgitating the statements he'd heard in the hallways.

"That's strange, what do you think happened to them? I mean, they have the same chances as we do of having boys and girls, right? So why no boys?"

"Harnessed with a serum and forced to fight to the death." Four sneered, unable to keep in his cynical thoughts.

"What?" Rafael looked concerned. "You're kidding? Right?"

"Never mind. I'm sure it's just that they don't have laborers, not that they don't have men." That seemed to calm him, but it didn't shut him up.

When they stepped off the bus, he had unwittingly gained a partner in Rafael. They navigated their way around to the work office a few streets away from the bus station.

He put in his credentials and helped Rafael fill in his- lies or guesses for most of the fields. The stern middle aged woman behind the desk looked over the forms and medical papers they were required to begin, and grabbed Four's arm. It was a shock to his system as she squeezed his muscles and kicked at his legs- some rudimentary test to make sure he was strong. It's all he can do to stay quiet and respectful.

They were assigned to road duty, and the physical nature of the labor sounded like therapy. Four had always sought sanctuary in the routines of his life; the predictability of his childhood, his time in Dauntless, even his vigil over Tris. And now he rose with the sun, walked to the work site as one amidst hundreds, and in the first week began to learn equipment to move rock and dirt.

But the most rewarding to him was when he had to step out of the metal cage of controls and down on the soil to proceed with shovels. The intensity was low, but the site worked twelve hour shifts, the walk not included. He liked the feeling of the crisp air foretelling a worsening winter after a long day of movement. He mistook the promise of monotony for healing.

He and Rafael took up residence in what they called the 'work camps' which were wide, open warehouses along a polluted and stinking river. The building they were in was filled with dozens of other men from the fringe and Indianapolis, and a couple others from the Bureau or factionless from Chicago. Not a single person that Four knew, although one man looked vaguely familiar. It was more like living factionless than he had anticipated.

Everyone was on their own. They had to feed themselves, find bedding, battle the mice and settle their own disputes. While there didn't seem to be a formal structure, there were obviously leaders; men that could seemingly force cooperation out of chaos. It was because of them that the showers worked, the trash was cleared, and the collection for heating oil and rent was taken every week.

Waking up in the work camp was disorienting and yet familiar. On more than one occasion, he flashed back to initiation and the rows of kids still sleeping when he woke up early to train Shauna.

Falling asleep wasn't as nostalgic.

When the lights dimmed and the conversations cut over to the sound of snores, he was still awake, still thinking about her. Panicked thoughts about complications made him dread sleep. When he managed to calm his nerves, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep wasn't enough to staunch the sudden recall of memories.

Even what should have been the fondest moment brought a dominating anger through his core that was hard to control. He had the best chances of sleep if he took a few laps around the buildings and a warm shower- something that always drew weary eyes and unimpressed comments.

After work, the men would gather at one of the many bars down the street. Establishments set up to reap the money off the camps were scattered throughout the warehouses nearby.

Four passed for the first few days, feigning feeling under the weather, but he knew he would have to fit in eventually. He felt like an outsider again; the only one there to escape not profit. It was an all too familiar feeling from when he had first settled into Dauntless life; uncertain what to do once his goal of initiation had been reached. That was when Zeke forced him out of his shell- forced him into trying to become part of Dauntless.

Rafael made a decent surrogate. At the end of the first week, he pulled him up and physically pushed him out the door and down the street. He put the drink in his hand and brought together others from the camp around a single round table.

"What's your name?" Rafael would ask one of the men, then concentrate on his face and make a point to remember. "Where are you from Liam?"

"Oh, I come from the fringe outside of Indianapolis." Four's ears perked up. His few trips into the territory of the genetically damaged made him wary of anyone that came out of it. "Just here to earn some money to try to get my family out, Just heard about this Chicago experiment, that it's opening up."

"Four's from Chicago." Rafael offered. Four froze as Liam smiled, obviously with questions in mind. He hadn't made up his mind yet.

"Oh, what did you do in Chicago?" Liam asked, "You know, before it ended."

"Ended? How'd it end?" Another guy asked before he could answer.

"They had a war, don't you read." Liam hushed him and then turned back to him.

His past wasn't something he necessarily had to hide. Marcus wasn't here, no one knew who Tris was, and no one knew about Jeanine Matthews or cared about faction loyalty. But what was a soldier to the GD in Milwaukee? A good thing, or a bad one?

"I worked in my faction's facility group, you know watching security footage and fixing network issues."

"Computers?"

"Yeah." He realized, looking around, that most of these men probably hadn't seen a computer, or at least not outside of what school they attended. "I worked with computers."

"Pretty strong for an egghead." Rafael challenged.

"I like to stay fit." He shrugged. He didn't feel the need to dredge up the past when he came here to move forward.

"Hey, what's that?" He asked, seeing a group of men jostling and cheering in the corner. Something about the drink in his stomach was bringing out his curiosity.

"Darts." Liam looked at him sideways, "Haven't you ever thrown darts?"

"Is it like throwing knives?" He said before he could stop himself. Liam and a few others looked leery, confirming his instincts about the truth.

"Yeah, I guess so." Liam responded. Rafael slapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't think I've ever played, do you want to try?" He was watching intensely; the sloppy form of the thrower, the tally board, the money pinned to the bottom corner.

"Yeah, I could be good at this," he declared.

They walked over, shoulder to shoulder, and put a claim on the next free board. Then they made themselves busy learning the rules and the scoring.

Four bounced a little on the balls of his feet as he waited, too much anticipation to hold in. His unknown competitor put three darts in his hand and he felt the weight and balance.

"Can I get a couple practice shots? I've never played before." The men looked around and laughed. Some comments about getting his money before he figures it out were made to the thrill of a few of the more inebriated.

He tossed it up and spun it in the air, feeling how it landed and flipped, then eyed the line on the ground and tried his best to judge his distance.

"Just throw it," a man called, so he took a breath in and pulled his arm back into a familiar stance.

"He'll never hit it like that," someone sighed, frustrated and bored.

On the exhale he hit a little out of the middle ring, but that wasn't how he wanted to play the game. He wanted to drop points as quickly as possible, and that meant a bullseye. So he pulled back and focused, then let it land right where he wanted it. A few whistles and declarations that he was lucky went up.

"Okay, I'm ready, who am I playing?" he asked, excited, and collected his darts. He took five dollars off the first challenger with flawless throws.

"Ringer," the man hissed, handing his money over in a rough handshake. Their noses almost touched and he squeezed his hand too hard. "Haven't ever played, my ass."

"You calling me a liar?" Four held his hand tight. He'd been in a position of authority since finishing first in stage one of initiation, after all. Call it arrogance, but fools weren't tolerated in the pecking order of Dauntless. "I don't think that's very polite."

The man looked him up and down -the tattoos visible over his shoulders, his unshaven face, the obvious youth behind it- yet, the man must have thought he had the experience.

Four saw his shoulder dip back and pushed him off balance before he could swing. He landed on his back on the floor, the five dollars somewhere other than their hands. The man scrambled and jumped up, but the fight was uneven and he was back on the ground as the rest of the groups threw themselves together in fists and bodies. Bouncers -big bodied men with iron grips- hauled them out one by one, eventually using iced towels to shock the men and get the upper hand.

Four rubbed his split lip and bruised eye, panting in the cold with the rest of them. Liam looked at him, at first haggard, but when Four laughed, they all laughed with him.

{}

Four went out with them on the next Friday. And the stories started as each of these colorful men described why they came to Milwaukee: for money, to avoid jail, escaping a bad marriage. Four's assumptions of being alone started to unravel. Like him, almost all of them were running away from something.

"What about you, why do you call yourself Four?" Rafael asked.

"Why do they call you Rafael? They just do," he laughed.

"Which faction?" Liam asked, He'd been reading the newspaper earlier at lunch, and Four had looked over his shoulder at the headlines.

"Does it matter?" He asked, too defensively.

"Just curious. I was reading an article, gave some descriptions," he assured.

"You got something to hide?" Four looked down at his drink.

"I was a soldier in Dauntless," he admitted, "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Seriously? " Rafael asked gleefully. "So, you could kill me right now? Ten dollars says I can get you on the floor."

Fighting -being a good fighter- always made Four feel proud and distinguished. It was also fun and something he and Zeke did regularly. So he said yes and they stepped out into the street.

The following afternoon, the warm sun broke the grey dome, and he suddenly wanted to see more of the town. So Four gathered a group -including Rafael- to explore. The sun was swiftly falling and they were heading out into the streets unknown without so much as a flashlight.

But Four pushed them on with a little bravado and an energy channeled directly from Dauntless. He started to run, and they followed. They rounded a corner into the heart of Downtown, where the street lights were lit, and they shuffled close together as they walked past the stores and shops.

A street magician juggled objects and made a few balls disappear, and they cheered and laughed. They found a man dubbing himself as 'The Strongest Man in the World' holding up a bowling ball by a string attached to his finger and flexing it like mini-curls.

"Four, you can take him," Rafael jeered.

"Nah," he laughed, the performer perking up.

"You, Sir. You think you're very strong?" he asked, a strange accent clogging the r's into w's. Four would say no, but Zeke would say yes, so he nodded. "How about an arm wrestle? If you win, I will add this to my sign." He holds up the word 'second' on a little tablet. "I will become the second strongest man in the world." He paused, "If I win, you owe me ten dollars." Ten dollars was two weeks rent.

"If I win, you owe me ten dollars," Four smirked.

"Five. I run a business," he said sternly.

"Okay, five." He put his ten dollar bill on the table and took a seat. Rafael kneaded his shoulders in excitement.

"On three. One, two, three," another man counted and they engaged. The vendor's palms were sweaty and Fours grip was slipping. The man was strong, very strong. His bicep bulged, but Four held him straight up and down. This, he knew, would be a struggle of endurance. Dauntless-born were bulky, brutish in their strength; Abnegation boys were lean and made for the long haul.

He tensed his core and breathed long and deep breaths, feeling the contortion of his challenger all the way to the fingertips digging into his flesh. He closed his eyes and pictured anything that he thought would give him strength. He saw the weight room, the ladders to the catwalks, the ferris wheel, her eyes reflecting the gentle light of the moon. A sudden rage rushed through him and he pinned the hand down to the table with a loud _smack!,_ and held him there until arms pulled him back.

"It's done, it's done!" they shouted, "Let him up." The man groaned and tossed the five dollar bill at him as he collected himself. The wave of embarrassment caught him by almost as much surprise as his temper. Four stalked away, trying to get a moment to himself, but Rafael was right there behind him, egging him on.

"Rafael, back off," he snarled, inches away from his face and his fists balled.

"Jeeze, man. Celebrate." He slapped his shoulder and broke the spell. "You owe me a drink." He cajoled and pulled him back down the dark alleys to their usual bars to advertise his capabilities and collect the bets.

Four tried not to make going out a nightly thing; he found running himself to exhaustion to be the better sedative. But Fridays started to exclusively follow that pattern: drinks, stories and then challenges. Four fought his demons with every sparring match or arm wrestle; it was getting harder and harder not to give into the rage he felt. But when he would visualize strength, she always came to mind.

He started to notice a few changes in himself, ones that made him question if the fresh start was really good for him. He hadn't bothered to buy razors and his hair was weeks past due for a haircut. It made him feel sloppy and dirty.

He also noticed as he buttoned his jeans and pulled on his belt, that he was out of holes. He'd been the same size for over a year, and in the years prior, he'd had the opposite problem; growing from a shrimp of a kid into an adult. He used a nail from the work site to push a new hole into the leather and reminded himself that this is what going factionless would have been like.

{}

The routine was set by the end of December: daily walks out to the worksite, twelve hour shifts Sunday through Friday, eight hours on Saturday; trips to the laundromat and the grocery store were done during the shortened day. The bar was a given after work on Fridays for darts and competitions. And every night, a run around the building to keep the self-deprecating coping mechanisms at bay, and hopefully repress the thoughts that brought them to the surface.

As Friday nights got later and later, and the prospect of an early morning percolated in the back of their minds, the pack of men would dwindle as they one by one took a go at getting a woman and a private bed for the night. He watched, tentative and fixated as they pursued and jockeyed over the prostitutes that worked the sidewalks outside. They'd be bidding and joking and occasionally fighting over price point and duration.

More than once, he let the chemicals in his body convince him to walk over, then chickened out. He couldn't bring himself to follow along on this particular sport, but there were others that also stayed behind to chat.

"You should be out there, sewing some oats. Thought that's what you soldiers did." Liam's comment seemed to grant him permission to look, as he watched the long legs and the loose tops barely concealing anything.

"Guess it's not for everyone," he commented, making his decision final and pulling on a coat.

"You into fellows?" Liam asked quietly. Four blushed and shook his head. "You sure?"

"I am positive." He smirked, and somehow felt he needed to back up his claim, "I had a girl back home, just can't imagine replacing her with that." He pointed at a particularly sloppy woman who'd stepped in to get warm. It wasn't completely true, he couldn't replace her, but something about that sloppy woman and the activities he knew she specialized in did interest him.

Liam chuckled. "First love is always the most pure and sweet, but it's hardly ever the one that lasts."

"Apparently."

He counted out his portion of the bill, and the sloppy woman sauntered up, confused by his hand motion. He couldn't keep the blush out of his face as his hormones begged _yes_ but his lips declined. Liam looked back at him with concern, and he worried that he would have to eventually give in to wipe the pity off of it.

[]

January- a new year, a new level of cold. His perception of making progress towards forgetting her was tilted by a letter from Christina.

She'd taken careful note of her life in multiple letters, but they'd been delayed due to the iced over roads. They arrived like a chunk of individually wrapped pages in her diary. Cara had returned to Chicago and established herself in a lab, working with others on new innovations and supporting the education of the cities' children. Christina had stayed to look after Tris, although she never mentioned more than a sentence about her. But the letter dated five weeks into his exile contained a new snippet.

'Tris and Caleb are returning to Chicago, and I'm staying here work out the long term logistics between the bureau and the city. I'll miss them both. It's like there's no one from home left.'

While he should have felt empathy for Christina's loss of the familiar, all he could muster was the pity for himself losing the last solid connection to her. The other few letters in the bundle didn't mention Tris at all. One mentioned that Amar and George had gone back, too.

For a few days he was full of nightmares and horrible anxiety. That he would stop getting letters from Christina and that she'd never mention Tris again; that Tris would just disappear and he'd never be able to find her; that Tris died and that's why Christina didn't say anything; that Tris was seeing someone else, and that felt worse than if she died.

This was made even worse by his inner monologue declaring that that's what she wanted anyways, and that she was better off without him.

His letter back was short, to the point, and focused on the weather. He added his empathetic statements at the end for Christina's plight as an afterthought. It went out in the post, and the next day he was rendered unable to function by a sweeping flu jumping bed to bed in the camp. To him it felt like punishment heaped on months of punishment.

He shivered and shook; his body ached and four of the men close by died in the first three days. The only men that seemed immune were from the Bureau, like Rafael, the ones with the vaccinations. Four was never so thankful to have partnered up with him than when he showed up with broth, medicine, and blankets. Rafael's hand shook as he loaded the syringe and started to lean towards him, obviously scared and uncomfortable with sharps. Four took it from him.

"I can do this," he assured, inserting the needle into his neck.

"You could have gone for the arm." Four didn't have the energy to shrug, just to mumble as the sting spread out through his circulatory system.

"I could hit that vein in my sleep." If Rafael hadn't looked confused, Four would have thought he was a hallucination, but he didn't explain.

As a rule in the camps, if they weren't working, no one was paying them, and it wasn't likely that they were eating much either. By the time the virus left his system, he was inches past the impromptu hole in his belt and had consumed the fat reserves on his body. His metabolism had cannibalized the proteins from his muscles to survive. The clothes of the dead men were piled in the corner and distributed by the skeletal workers that were left.

"You sure you're okay to work?" Rafael asked, watching him shiver. "I mean, you can barely tie your own shoes." But Dauntless had taught him to keep moving.

The emaciated survivors stomped out to the site tired and weak, but they had to work to get money to pay rent and buy food and to pay for oil. He took the controls of the backhoe and was thankful to have a job that wasn't so draining. But at a certain point he ran out of equipment work; he stepped down from the big machine, realizing how cold his feet were and how fast the wind moved outside the box.

He huddled with the other men in a tight circle, waiting for the crane to deposit the pillar into the hole he'd dug. Mid-way through the pillar lift, the chain disengaged and slammed down, rolling into a stack of materials and triggering a slide of supplies heading directly towards a second waiting group.

Four heard the bang and his feet moved as only trained boots can move. He put his arms around two men and pushed them forward, running them up the hill and pushing others in the path. The barrels bounced down the hill and struck two men. As the movement settled, he reversed. His training in triage coming up to his throat as he shouted orders at the stunned men that watched wide-eyed.

Four sat, looking at the crushed body being put on a stretcher and asked himself if he could have saved him, a dozen what if's bouncing around in his brain; the other man was long gone on a work truck for medical care. His thoughts were disrupted by the random memory of a head exploding out the back.

He shook his head and tapped his temple with the meat of his hand. Were they necessary kills? Could he have shot them through the hands or taken off a finger? His time on the range told him he was capable. The sweep of guilt paralyzed him in thought until Liam put a big hand on his shoulder.

"That was pretty amazing, kid." He pulled him up by his hand. "I can't believe you saved them."

"Missed one."

"Yeah, but we could be down four." He pushed him up and along the road. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd never seen a dead guy," he teased.

"Yeah, wish I hadn't," he said, too serious for Liam to feel comfortable.

"You going to be okay?"

Four shook his head; a tear had snuck out and down his face, blending into his growing beard. In his head, he couldn't even put an accurate count into the tally; at least ten.

Then a more shameful thought- did that make him humble? That he didn't know for sure how many?

"This one isn't yours." Liam let him be silent, let him be a zombie while he walked him back to the warehouses.

Four didn't feel like being like Zeke anymore; cheerfulness had no place here. He didn't want to be Four anymore either; death seemed to followed him everywhere. And he couldn't be Tobias, because he could only be him with her.

He didn't want to wake up anymore He never wanted to have to fall asleep and dream about those things again.

**Comments appreciated, see box below.**


	3. CH3: The Pharmacy is open

**CHAPTER 3 - TRIS - PUBLISHED**

She'd held her breath until she almost passed out. Christina's shadow had long disappeared down the hall, but her lecture on love and being responsible to the people we love was still echoing in her ears.

When Tris gulped for air, her whole body rejected it. The searing pain from her center underscored her exhales with stifled squeaks of suffering. She wanted it to stop -she wanted her chest to not implode upon itself- but these sobs that ricocheted up from her belly and out her throat felt compelled on her by something outside of herself.

The nurse clamped her hands on her -rubbing her shoulder, her arm- trying to sooth her; she'd been a snotted up mess for over an hour. The nurse glared at her watch, cursing the size of the compound, just when Caleb rushed to the room.

"What's wrong? What happened?" He had obviously been sleeping, and was still barefooted and disheveled, woken by the aid sent to retrieve him.

"She won't calm down." The nurse sighs as she transfers Tris's hand to his. "She's been like this for the last hour. We checked her pain medication- she's maxed out. I don't think it's physical."

"Beatrice." He searched her curled up form and red face for anything. "What's wrong, what happened."

"I should be dead," she croaked, and coughed out more sobs. He shook his head involuntarily back and forth. "I sh- I sh- I should be dead!" She cried out again, burying her face in her pillow.

"Do you have a sedative?" He asked. This mess of a girl was beyond his ability to rationalize a more compassionate next step.

"I'll see if there's something I can give."

The nurse left and another person returned with a syringe and a vial for her IV line. She had been gulping for air and repeating her statement over and over, squeezing his hand until it was white. He watched her melt out of contortion into a hazy calm state, and he was thankful for the drugs.

"Beatrice," he tried again, her eyes jittery and searching. "What's going on?"

"I should have died," she sniffled. He wiped at her nose with a tissue.

"There's a lot of things that should have happened, and you surviving is at the top of my list." He sat and felt the blood start to return to his fingers. "Did you have a dream, or did Four say something?"

"Four! Tobias!" She cried out and let quiet whimpers replace what little composure she'd gained, but she calmed quickly.

Part of him had relished in her rejections of Four; the part that wanted her to be his family, not someone else's. But then there was that more dignified, selfless part that wanted her to be happy and started to grow concerned each time he passed the wreck of a man curled up in the hallway, waiting.

"I can find him. I can go get him, right now." Caleb started to stand. She tugged him back.

"He's gone. I sent him away."

"Beatrice, why would you do that?" This didn't make sense. Of course none of it made sense...

"I left him. I chose to leave him!" A fresh round of screechy sobs and hiccups left her, followed by an unintelligible statement, and then a clearer one. "I'm supposed to be with mom and dad."

Her statement was unambiguous, and her eyes pointed right at him. "I told her I was coming, I told her I'd be right there. She must be so disappointed in me."

"You're babbling, who did you tell? When was this? Where are you going?"

"Mom!" she sobbed again, losing it and continuing to cry out. It sounded like, "She must be so angry with me." She let her words dribble into moans as the drugs reached their full effect and she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Caleb walked to the nurse's station. The taller first lady had dread on her face, obviously concerned he was going to call her back in. "I'd like to talk to the doctor. And umm, do you have someone that deals with emotional damage, like a therapist?"

"Hmm. I'm sure we do, but I can't seem to remember." She stared off and to the left. This part of the wipe had been the most annoying. They'd remembered their professional skills and their ability to talk and care for themselves. They also knew what to do and when regarding work, but no one could remember each other.

"Can you check a directory?" he prompted, not willing to watch the blanked neurons. She brightened, like that was the best idea she'd heard all day.

{}

"So, um, your sister?" The therapist asked as she flipped through the pages of her chart. She was a short and stocky woman with a bob just below her earlobes and a waistline that was as round as her torso was long, making her seem like a kindly sphere with arms. She had pink rosy cheeks and pale lips that blended in with the rest of her skin.

"Exposure to the memory serum, that's horrible," she gasped, "And the death serum? Wow. She survived the death serum." She looked into the room like it was housing a holy relic. "And bullets to boot. What an amazing girl."

"Yeah, she's astounding," he placated. "Anyways, I think she's in some sort of emotional distress. She hasn't been herself since she woke up, and today she kept saying that she should have died and that she was supposed to meet our mother some place. But our mother is dead."

"I'm sorry for your loss." She gave him a gentle touch as she said it. He didn't want her kindness, he wanted her answers. "I don't think anyone's ever looked into the effects the two serums would have. I mean, no one survives the death serum. But I would bet -since the memory serum targets, well, memories and the death serum shuts down critical functions- that she probably had a very vivid hallucination." She paused, "What else about her behavior has been different?"

"She doesn't want to talk about anything but growing up, at least with me. Then there was a guy she was with and she refused to see him. Wouldn't talk about him, wouldn't let him in the room. I guess she told him to leave, but they'd been pretty...bonded?" He wasn't certain of the words he should use as the idea of them together still creeped him out. "Shared experiences and such, from Chicago."

"I wonder. I seem to recall there was this guy, oh what was his name? He worked in the labs and he did research on serums." She tapped her lips as she struggled. "What was his name?" She snapped her fingers and Caleb knew there wasn't anything coming, but it did give him an idea.

"Matthew," he stated dryly. A figure that had been almost entirely absent since she'd come out of surgery.

"Maybe, I don't know, doesn't sound right. Anyway," she gave up, "I'm going to go sit with her, see if I can rouse her up to talk." She toddled into the room, and Caleb started the sprint down the hallway to the labs, his cold bare feet slapping on the tiles as he went.

He found the office, knocked loudly, and then entered.

"Caleb?" Matthew was behind a desk, a device to his ear, "I'll have to call you back," he murmured and set it down. "What's wrong? Is Tris okay?" He said it with genuine concern, a good sign in Caleb's book.

"No, she's not. What are the side effects of a small dose of memory serum mixed with death serum mixed with bullets?"

"Umm, I'm going to assume that's rhetorical, as it is impossible to answer." He shuffled his paper work into a stack. "So, what symptoms is she presenting?"

"Extreme sadness, vivid dreams, dissociation from loved ones, the declaration that she should be dead," he listed. "She sent Four -er Tobias- away. I haven't seen him today; he's been practically living in the hall outside her door."

"Can't say I'm sad to see the guard dog put outside," Matthew replied, uncensored. "Not that I have all the background, but the guy seemed unstable." He paused for a second, pulling a notebook out of a drawer of other notebooks and started to flip. "Vivid dreams? Like what?"

"She says she told our mother that she would meet her somewhere and now she's really upset that she can't."

"When did she have the dream?"

"I don't know, could have been last night, or...I don't know."

"I think you should find out. If it was last night, could be one of the medications playing with her receptors. A simple change in dosage or pharmacology and they'll stop."

"I'll talk to the doctors."

"Would you mind if I talked to her? I've wanted to go around and check in, but with David dead," Caleb winced, the memory of his own doing not pleasant in his mind, "I've been left to calm the rest of the government offices, and you know, explain the accident."

"Yeah, I guess. You can come by whenever. And thanks for the suggestion." They exchanged smiles and Caleb marched back, stopping to dress himself on the way. She was still asleep, the therapist gone. He confronted the doctors, who were puzzled when they combed her records for what could have these side effects. It wasn't obvious to them.

Matthew came a little after two. Tris had woken up and was picking at the bloodied cuticles of her fingers, repeatedly. Pick and pick and pick. The tears still flowed fluidly, coming without the sobs that rocked her body earlier.

"Hey Tris." He announced from the doorway, Caleb right behind him. She smiled. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." He stood at the foot of her bed, flipping through her charts. "Long time no see," she said, somewhat suspicious of his sudden presence.

"Yeah, things have been busy, cleaning up and all," he murmured, reading, flipping. "Caleb mentioned that you had a vivid dream, about your mother?" Her face darkened and she sniffled. "When did you have this dream?" She looked at Caleb, accusatory and suspicious. "Caleb, would you mind if we talked alone?" He backed out the door and shut it.

"There, just you and me." She smiled at him, gripping his hand. "When did you have this dream?"

"The first time?" she asked. He nodded. "When I died."

"You didn't die," he corrected.

"I did. Or I was supposed to." She sniffled again, taking a deep breath because she knew what was coming.

"It was cold and bright, and my dad called me over to him. And my mom was there." She struggled to keep her emotions in check. "They said I was done, all done. That I needed to go home with them. And I wanted to. I wanted to go." She broke down. He carefully leaned in and put his arms around her; she latched onto him.

"It's okay. You're here now," he soothed and she sniffled.

"You believe me?"

"I believe you saw what you saw." He nodded and smiled. "Anyone that doubts you is a fool."

"I don't think Caleb would believe me." She shot a glare out the door.

"And Tobias?" He asked, uncertain if it was a good idea to ask or not. But a part of him needed to hear her say he was gone.

"Are you going to lecture me too?" She dropped his hands, recalling the harsh chastising statements from her best friend and looked around for an escape she couldn't make.

"Your decision is your decision," he stated. "I'm not one to judge."

He reached out and took firmer grip of her hand. This made her relax with him even more. "I think you're well enough to make up your own mind about who's in your life and who isn't." It was a sentiment that she appreciated.

{}

Physical therapy started as soon as she was off the IV antibiotics and painkillers. It was painful and exhausting, but the trainer kept commenting on her physical strength -the leftovers of initiation- being a benefit to her muscle memory.

The daily injections sped up the healing of her body, and the pharmacy helped seal her mind away. At first it was to help her sleep; then another pill to keep her asleep, and another to wake her up, and finally one to keep the demons away during the day.

Then when her focus slipped and she wasn't able to stay on top of the simplest of schedules, another to help her remember. Her day was marked by handfuls of tablets and glasses of water and this underlying hope that if she messed up just once, it would seem like an accident when they came and found her body.

Thoughts like that started to become consuming. She'd walk along the tall walls of the building, looking up and wondering where the stairs were. She'd let the wind lick at her bare ears and wonder if she forgot to put on her coat how long until exposure took her. She eyed the knife at the dining hall; its rounded tip but serrated edge. An off the cuff comment to the therapist, and another pill was added to the schedule. The thoughts decreased, but they didn't stop.

"So how did you feel this week?" Taryn, the plump woman with rosy cheeks would sit and smile with a cup of tea for each of them in the cozy and book-filed office.

"Like a machine." She was having an honest day. "Like I've been programmed to perform the same thing over and over and over and over..." She let her voice trail off.

"It's important to have a routine when you're in recovery. Your body wouldn't appreciate variety right now."

"I know." She sighed.

"When you think about it, when you say it, what's the emotion you're feeling?"

"Umm...hmm." She reflected in-her stomach was upset, which was usual after her morning doses, however, it annoyed her that her arm ached from the morning's therapy session. Her legs felt disjointed from her hips; tingly. But her core- her heart and her head? "Numb. I feel numb. I thought I felt agitated, but right now, I don't think I feel anything."

"Do you still have thoughts about ending your life?"

"No," she lied.

"Then let's stick with numb for a little while longer. As your body heals, your brain chemistry will get back in balance and then we can start to scale back the dosage."

"So I'll have to feel again?"

"We all have to feel. It's part of being human."

"Can I skip it?"

Christina walked with her, down a long hallway from her therapy session to the room with beds. Christina's presence was also a routine. She, Caleb, and Matthew would take turns walking with her from one place to the next. They'd chat about nothing and everything, and she found herself having the same conversations about the chill and the snow over and over. However, they'd agreed she couldn't be without supervision- not after it became apparent she was suicidal.

"You know, we can't stay in that room forever." Christina actually had something new to say. "Word's spreading, and people from Chicago want out. People from outside want in. They're talking about making it into a temporary housing unit, you know, for when the people start arriving. They've asked if we want our own apartments."

"Do we?"

"That's up to you. Cara wrote back. She says Johanna's forming a strong 'coalition' government. Like with people from all over, not one faction or otherwise. And that people are moving out of the faction head quarters and rebuilding in the vacant areas. So you could go back. Make a good life out of it."

"A good life," She laughed a little. "Are you staying then?"

"They need help organizing the logistics between the Bureau and Chicago, and improving the ones between here and other places. They've asked me to stay."

"That's exciting for you," she said, but she didn't feel excited. She knew she should, but she didn't. "I'll talk to Caleb, see what he wants to do. And Matthew. He'll know what's best."

This last statement made Christina bite her tongue.

There had been a growing number of statements like that, statements that confirmed he was heavily influencing her decisions. But Christina couldn't say what she wanted, because it was based on the assumption that Matthew was bad because he wasn't Four. And that's not something friends get to express out loud, especially since Tris had never talked about what happened or why she did what she did.

"Well, let me know what you decide. If you're staying here, who you want to live with. You know, me or Caleb. I'll try to get us a three bedroom, but no guarantees," she adds instead. Tris nods and unlatches her arm as she arrives at the door to Matthew's office. It was his turn to babysit.

"Hello, Tris." He smiled broadly and dismissed Christina with a wave. "Come on in." This was an hour of his day when he could eat lunch and not do the pressing work of the government. It was just as much a relief for him to have her there as it was for her to be away from the doctors and therapists.

She pulled out a pack and put her pills on the table; he poured her a glass of water and she threw them back. He produced a plate with buttered toast and slices of cold white meat. His food was simple and she liked that.

"So whatis it today, professor?" she asked, tearing at the crust.

"Oh, I found this," he said as he pulled a book out of his bag. "In the Library, there's a whole room full of books that were banned but never destroyed." He had a devilish look in his eye, like they were about to do something forbidden.

"And now that I have a master key to every room, I'm rescuing history." The cover said _War of the Worlds_ by _H.G. Wells_.

"History, you say?"

"Well, the book is historical. I've read references to it, but no, it's pure fiction. But then I thought you might enjoy a little fiction." He also reached down and pulled out a bigger book with a cloth binding. "I found this too. _The History of the United States, 1492-2000_. As you can see, it's very old." He tapped the dates. "It's probably more accurate than the other books we have on our shelves, though. Men have a tendency to re-write things to match what they want them to say."

She turned it over in her hands. "Christina says I have to make a decision soon, to stay here or go back to the city." His face got serious, contemplative.

"Is it really a good idea to leave now? All your therapists are here."

"I don't know. There are people in Chicago- doctors and therapists. I haven't had to do anything new for a long time. I could just keep going on my own. What do you think I should do?"

"I don't want you to go, selfishly. I like you," he admitted, a coy smile appearing, "And if you go back to Chicago, you'll meet other guys and I'll be stuck here wondering what could have been."

She felt uncomfortable, pinched, the first tingling of an emotion in a long time. Caught off guard, she couldn't say anything.

"I know, it's probably all too soon, what with Tobias and being injured. I get it." He looked bashful. "I need more water." He excused himself hastily.

She used the moment of seclusion to gather her thoughts and rationalize what just happened. She'd given up on Four and the kindness she knew how to give him, and that meant she was unattached. Logically, she knew she would date again, she just didn't realize that the choice would come so soon.

Falling for Four was something that just happened when she least expected it. But then again, she didn't expect this either. The anxious feeling in her stomach felt somehow too close to guilt for her to cross that line.

He came back in, the pitcher now topped off, his face avoiding her eyes. Looking anywhere else, he found a book and opened it to start reading.

"Matthew," she cleared her throat, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I was inappropriate." He smiled. "I apologize."

"Don't." She smiled back. "It is a little soon, but I don't _not_ like you." She blushed. "But I think it's best to go back into Chicago. It's home, you know?"


	4. CH4: Back in the lead

**Grammar, spelling, and readability editing provided by Milner.  
**

A meeting was called in the work camps. Two other buildings crowded into Four's; it was the first time it actually felt warm in weeks. One of the de facto leaders from each camp milled around at the opening of the building before climbing up onto a chair each. The barrel-chested, beer bellied foreman of the worksite -who did not live in the camps- entered with six heavily muscled and armed men. The climate electrified.

"Thank you for coming," one of the leaders stated. He helped him up onto a chair that threatened to break under his hulking mass. Snide comments were made by even the thickest workers who were still half his size.

Before anyone else could start with pleasantries or gain control of the impending conversation, a loud voice behind Four erupted in an accusation. "Sick men shouldn't work!"

"Now now," the foreman patted the air like he could calm them, and they settled out of want for information, not respect. "You have suffered a terrible loss and I understand you're concerned. We have launched a full investigation into the accident. But rest assured, that's what it was, an accident."

"That's not good enough!" Another cheer.

"No safety, no work!" half the crowd crowed while the other muttered before being silenced.

"But if you don't work, you won't be paid. How many of you can afford that?" The foreman shrugged. "An accident is just that- an unavoidable part of life." The crowd started to churn, moving and stepping like a monster gaining momentum.

Winston, the leader of Four's building called out, and some of the movement ceased. "There was one person that saw the potential, one person who was ready and saved many others." He paused, "I'd like to know what he saw, Four? Where is Four?"

Four was only just coming out of his daze and repetitive second guessing when Liam elbowed him and called, "He's here." He pointed and the crowd turned.

The crowd clapped and murmured their support. Hands reached out and shook his or pushed his shoulder as he moved forward. The attention and physical encroachment made him uneasy and claustrophobic. He had to swallow the bile that rose up into his mouth; he moved as quickly as the bodies would allow. Towards the front, they parted quicker knowing he was coming, and he had to consciously reduce his pace so as not to run out from between the bodies.

They all eagerly looked for him to confirm what they had already decided. He hadn't prepared himself to address anyone; he'd rather be outside in the snow and cold thinking through his feelings. But his experience told him this was a delicate situation- one that called for him to be strong and say the right thing or they'd turn on him. It was not unlike his feeling just before stepping up in front of Candor.

He looked down at his feet for a moment and noted the brown stain of blood on his pants and shirt- a fact that made him even more self-conscious in the intense focus of the forum. But the blood did something else; it gripped the men staring back at him and lent instant weight to anything he had to say.

"So?" Winston stepped down and pushed him up on the chair so he could be seen and heard. The foreman rolled his eyes and the crowd of normally boisterous men was silent except a few coughs and the screech of a chair on the concrete. Four stared blankly at Winston, suddenly overcome by a loss of words. "Tell them how you reacted so quickly."

The truth -if he dared to speak it- was that loud noises meant _move_ in his muscle memory. There wasn't anything intelligent about it. It wasn't even an instinct. His nature had been reprogrammed into reaction through drill after drill after drill.

But that's not what all these faces wanted to hear. This crowd wanted retribution not excuses. Today, he couldn't be honest; he just had to be brave and believe that words could go further than violence. He summoned that authoritative voice, the one that could boom out over the crowd.

"The operators were tired, we all were. I was. They made a mistake with the chain. But the position of the materials was also too close. There wasn't any planning for things to go wrong. If the site manager had paused, taken a moment to think if that pillar could fall and strike anything, I bet he would have put the materials further away."

They nodded with him. Well, almost all of them. Still, he was saying the right thing. He had them on his side, but he also had to keep them from advancing on their own. He turned to the foreman and tried to evenly distribute the blame.

"It's clear to me that more than one thing went wrong, but it was also clear that a safer situation could have been attained with some planning. One without so much potential." He looked directly at the foreman, who sneered as the crowd's agreement hummed.

The foreman erupted with dismissive laughter. "The wise words of a child." Four groaned on the inside. This was not the way to keep these masses still. "What makes you so sure you're you can trust this kid? He's fresh off a bus, wet behind the ears, no real experience. He's here today and running home to mommy tomorrow."

His emphasis on his age was effective among many of the others in the camp, especially the two thirds that lived in the other buildings. Although he'd never mentioned his exact age to anyone, it wasn't hard to tell from his lack of gray hair and wrinkles that he was younger than most.

Age wasn't part of the equation in Dauntless, and it hadn't occurred to him until that very moment that he'd been judged by his peers and deemed lacking based solely on a number and not his skills or experience. It made him angry and resentful, but again he reminded himself that he had to stay in control.

Four's thoughts took more than a second. Before he could answer for himself, one of his friends shouted, "In Chicago, he's Dauntless." They all whispered amongst themselves and it evoked that feeling of judgment in Candor for the second time.

"Whatever that means," the foreman muttered and laughed. That was it, he couldn't contain himself.

"Careful, Mr. Foreman," he warned in a dropped tone. "I have done things much more dangerous than build roads. I know better than anyone here, people are not replaceable." His last statement doesn't carry much beyond the first ten rows, but the foreman's eyes widen at the response.

"People, are not replaceable!" a man in the front row shouts, then another and another, a slow menacing chant taking over the whole building.

The foreman shrinks and steps off the chair. The crowd moves forward a half a foot and he shrinks back two. They lurch, their energy building, unable to keep still. He swiftly steps behind his entourage and out the door. The chant dies out, and Four stands on the chair while the wave of people throng around him in discussion.

Winston and the two other leaders, Steven and Mohamar move in next to him and buffer the bodies so he can get down. "What should we do next?" Steven asks, a question to all of them, including Four who's actively looking for a way out of the closing crowd.

Winston turns to him. "We don't want war here." There's fear in his eyes. "Can we avoid people dying?" Four can hardly concentrate on his face; he's too busy looking all around him to find room to breathe. "Are you okay?" He asks.

"This won't be another Chicago." Mohamar rolls his eyes, "It's completely different."

"All the menial labor in the city was targeted and wiped out, what do you think we are?" Winston continued obviously scared, and misinformed.

"Over there," Four interjected and pointed to the side of the building before moving out of the crowd. "Couldn't hear you," he lied, finally feeling like his lungs could fill all the way. "The government was the target, not the factionless. This is different, I think you can avoid fighting here. You just have to be smart about your approach, smart about what you say."

"Can you be smart?" Steven challenged. "Can you help us do it?"

He looked around at the thin and dirty men who were still milling and discussing passionately, and he felt the weight of obligation settle over him. He had one second to choose to run from it, or submit. "If I can help, I will."

"Okay, what about a work stoppage? He's right, most of us can't afford to not work. We're almost dead as it is." Steven shrugged.

"There's safety in numbers. Back home, everything came from our factions. You had a bit of credit that you could use month to month for specific things, but all the basics came from within the faction. And there's safety in that."

"What do you mean?" Mohamar asked.

"Food, shelter, water, hygiene, clothes, all the basics, we all need it. Everyone pitches in, and everyone gets what they need. Alcohol, whores, entertainment, all that has to come from what you save up on the side."

"Socialism. They tried that, lead to the war," Winston spat.

"I'm telling you, if you ask the men to strike, they'll say they'll starve, and they'd be right. But if you ask them to contribute to a food supply that's there when times are hard, I bet they will do it."

They devised a plan, something that would keep the men alive but push for better conditions. Each of the three warehouses would strike on separate days of the week. Food would be shared, rations put together and distributed. A store of non-perishables would be created to save up for a rainy day.

The message was delivered to each of the warehouses. Not everyone agreed; they were informed that they could continue to spend their money however they wanted, but rent was going up a dollar a week to support the plan.

The next day, two thirds of the men stepped out onto the road while the rest marched to the work assignment department at the Mayor's office and sat on the sidewalk or lingered in the street. Four plodded along the path to the worksite and joined the bottle neck as each man passed by the brown blood stain in the dirt. The plan was in motion.


	5. CH5: Discomfort in a New Normal

**Editing provided by Milner. Her story **_**Four and Six: A Choice, **_**is a personal favorite of mine.**

Christina cried as she loaded the small suitcase that primarily contained heavy books and dozens of pill bottles. Tris was cleared to travel and put in her papers with Caleb to get a place back in Chicago. They were given the choice of returning to their factions or starting fresh in a building near Erudite. While her suicidal thoughts had disappeared into the haze, Caleb didn't trust her to keep herself alive.

So they put in for the new space where they could be together. They were told it would be a two bedroom apartment that had fresh white paint and a set of standard issue furniture; the bare necessities: two mattresses on the floor, a table and chairs, and nothing else. There was a welfare office that would give them food until they could afford to buy it themselves and then they'd be on their own to purchase anything else they needed from their pay checks.

Caleb called the Erudite facility, getting patched around from lab to lab until he had Cara on the line. She got him a position in a lab down the hall from her. His background in serums and the aptitude test meant that he was marked for close supervision by the government overseers. His attention was now to be turned to vaccines and pharmaceutical compounds. The idea of getting back to honest truthful work thrilled him.

Conversely, Tris had no interest in working. She didn't have interests outside of reading books from Matthew. But everyone in Chicago had to work, so she dutifully took a position inside Johanna's executive organization coordinating the dispersion of supplies. While she originally dreaded it because it relied so much on social interaction, her inquisitive nature was inevitably peaked by the stories she heard.

At first, it was annoying and time consuming to get them through what they had to say before she could do her job. But the books that Matthew had given her, the ones she enjoyed the most, were all histories from the former United States, a history they had tried very hard to remove. Quickly, she realized that history started from the people that were there, and she was waist deep in firsthand accounts.

Factionless and faction-loyal alike turned her fascination into an addiction. She recorded anything they wanted to say- what happened on the day Abnegation was slaughtered, where they were when the Candor were enslaved, rumors they heard in their families about divergent aunts and uncles.

She wrote it all down and desperately attended to each detail so that no name was forgotten. The Candor were the easiest, the Abnegation the most difficult. She had a special notebook, one which she'd fill with hers and Caleb's memories of their family. She'd brought him to tears more than once by pressing more and more, thirsting for his memories.

Hearing the stories of others, she couldn't avoid noting the parallels to her own. She started with the morning of the attack -what it was like to wake up among the zombies- but she stopped when she got to the train. She fast forwarded to the procession to her death tank and, paused, pen in mid word. History wasn't supposed to be selective. It didn't make compromises for emotions.

But that was the hardest part; she felt nothing when she should be overly sensitive. It should have made her sad to think about Tobias. She should have felt anxious or even desperate as she contemplated how he could disappear from the planet and she'd never even know. But instead she felt nothing; not even guilt over not feeling. And the idea that she didn't feel the sting of loss made her conclude that she was broken. It was only logical.

Not one to waste the opportunity of her own dissociation, she wrote it all down as she remembered it in full. Tris was spending hours at night actively trying to force herself to feel something, anything, but nothing came.

She tried to be as descriptive as she could about the sound of the stones under the feet of the soldiers as they spread throughout the streets of Abnegation, and the thunk of the fists that beat Tobias' back when he attacked Jeanine. And she got through it all, every little thing, until she got to being rescued by her mother.

This confirmed she was defective; she visualized the route through the streets and every squeeze of the trigger. It was easy for her to recall Will -furrowed brow and full of kindness- on the ground. She didn't even need a break when she recorded the pattern of the bullets she saw strike her mother. She only stopped because Caleb came into the room with another handful of pills and a glass of water so she could have a dreamless night's sleep like only a mindless idiot can have.

Within the first week she got a surprise visit from Amar and George who received word she was there from Christina. They'd left a week or two earlier and had scouted out the Dauntless facility, finding a couch and some kitchen items that they thought they could use.

She told herself that she was excited to see them, excited to hear what the new Dauntless would be- maybe she could go back, after all. But it was the same lie she told herself when finding that she was awake for an event; being awake surely meant she was engaged.

"Oh, you know, it's a bunch of fools preparing for the end of the world," George explained. "There's so much paranoia about serums already in their systems and this new government outside. I don't think they trust the factionless getting any piece of the pie." He shrugged. "But that's okay. They have these ghosts to guide them." He pointed between them. He paused and pulled out a notebook, his face becoming serious.

"I've been collecting Tori's things from her apartment." His voice was strained and Amar put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "She was an artist, you know, and I understand she helped you. She knew so many people well, but anyways," he stopped his own rambling, "I'm offering people a piece of her artwork." He pulled out a portfolio filled with thick sheets of paper. "Would you like to take one?"

She opened it on the table, sitting up on her knee to get perspective. Each sheet was a single, simple design, probably meant for tattoos. A few were full of color and a couple were more realistic, too fine in their detail to ever be transferred to skin.

"She really had a talent." She started to sort them, ones that she enjoyed and others that were less meaningful or interesting. Then she saw the Dauntless flames like the one on her shoulder, and the Abnegation hands that she'd ingrained as well. And something else that looked familiar but she couldn't place from where.

She started to lay the pieces of individual paper out turning one ninety degrees another fully around until it was obvious- this was Tobias's tattoo in all the individual pieces. There were designs upon designs of options. She imagined Tori similarly sitting with him going through sheet after sheet of ideas until he was satisfied.

She looked up at George. "This is Tobias'," she stated, and he and Amar cocked their heads at her. Of course, they'd probably never seen his tattoo. She knew he didn't show many people, but Amar was one of his close friends.

He moved to look from her view point and then it felt intrusive, like she was letting them see something that they shouldn't, and that made her feel something, _finally_, in the hallow of her chest.

"You should set this aside, for him. He might like it." Her voice caught in her throat as she pulled the papers hastily together and stacked them. She'd been looking for that feeling for days, but now that it was on display in front of these almost strangers, she wanted nothing to do with it.

"You should keep them," Amar offered, but his tone wasn't congenial. "For when he comes back. You're the closest to family he has here. At least that's what he said." That dug deep into her, most likely his intention.

"He isn't coming back," she stated stubbornly and easily. The spurt of emotion that made it through the chemicals had been suppressed by a moment's breath.

"You should still keep them," George insisted, glaring at Amar. "Things are chaotic right now. I wouldn't want them to get damaged or misplace. If he's not back in a year, get rid of them if you want. Or maybe they'll be a memory you become fond of. You can still take another one that means something to you."

She wondered if the preference she felt for George over Amar was emotion or just fact. Then she had to consider Amar's point of view. She hadn't thought about what Tobias leaving would mean to other people that cared for him, and obviously Amar had remaining affection for him.

She set the stack to the side, satisfying them that she would hold on to them. She continued to pull sheet after sheet until she found it; a series of birds, each one in a different stage of flight down to landing on a pond. There are seven on the sheet.

"This one," she smiled, "Maybe I'll complete the set, one day. Or get this one fixed, at least." She pulled her collar back so George could see. The bird on the bottom was sliced by the healing scar from one of her surgeries.

Caleb brought them tea in mix-matched mugs and Amar finally sat, seemingly satisfied to move on to a different topic. George collected the drawings and placed them carefully in his bag.

"So, how is Dauntless?" Tris asked. It's all he needed to get started.

"Obviously, you can't make people give up factions." Amar liked to be philosophical. "If this is going to be a society of free will, you have to let the people decide. So far, almost everyone is deciding to stay in their factions. But then we have the question about the future. Choosing day is roughly six months away. The current proposal is to allow anyone who wants -regardless of origin of birth- take the aptitude test, and then they can choose a faction or be with the factionless. They're keeping the name Allegiant. The current argument is about initiation and if people can fail, what happens to them."

"Sounds like a lot of rules for freedom," Caleb chuckled. Amar shrugged.  
"There's ideas about putting each kid through three weeks in each faction, you know, so they're informed about what they're choosing."

"And what about jobs?" George interjected, prompting Amar like it was a planned pitch.

"There's still a need for the factions to keep doing what they're doing and the factionless to do what they do, but you know, get paid. I think over time those lines will blur. You'll have Dauntless working on the factory line, not just the security. Factionless will train to be judges." Amar pointed at Tris, "Like your job, what faction do you think that makes you apart of?"

"Abnegation," Caleb labeled. "Clearly."

"But there's a lot of calculations and formulas like the Erudite. And then there's the bureaucracy just like Candor wants, and neither would like the time you put into your side project. Don't think we haven't heard about it." Caleb shrugged and either agreed or didn't feel strongly enough to disagree.

"You need to come back," George confirmed, "At least to visit. See what there is to see."

"I'll probably be there in a few weeks, you know, doing the rounds," Tris confirmed.

"They must miss you, the way they talk." George pressed.

"What do you mean? I was barely a member." She remembered quickly the list of people she knew that were still alive- just a handful. It bothered her that even that didn't make her feel anything.

"But you saved them. That counts for a lot in Dauntless," Amar pointed out.

* * *

Her first time back in the factions differed greatly; Candor was stifling, Abnegation was stark, and Erudite was surreal. Crews of Allegiant laborers were busy cleaning up the destruction and repairing the labs. Caleb worked in this building- the lab he'd originally trained it was already back together. But she wasn't here to see him. She was here to see Mario, the new leader of the Erudite.

She stepped into the elevator, escorts on either side of her. The walls were too close to her, and their bodies too rigid, proper. Her heart rate started to rise as they passed floor after floor. Then the swell of panic started to come over her as her memories came back to her in spurts. The box slid to a stop and the doors opened.

The escorts, together, put their arms out behind her funneling her forward into the hallway. She lost herself. She was being pushed down the hall to her cell. The soreness in her body echoed through her- residuals of Jeanine's latest simulation. She would die here if she could not escape; she should die here to escape. If she attempted it, they might kill her in the chaos.

She lashed out, using her full power and what little utility she had in her shoulder to bring the goons down to their knees. More rushed at her, to constrain her. She shrieked and called out, begging, "No! Please! No more. Just kill me! Please, just kill me!"

When her heart rate returned to normal and the panic had subsided, she was under several bodies. The air was full of frustrations and questions. Down the hall, a familiar outline approached, Caleb.

"Get off her," he called, "Get her up."

"She attacked us." One of the escorts cupped his cheek, leaning against the wall.

She felt the bodies come up off of her and Caleb sunk to his knees, helping her to a sitting position. "What happened Tris?"

"I, um, I thought they were..." then she stopped, noting she had nothing rational to say. She panted and refocused, seeing her bag sprawled out over the floor. "I'm sorry, I got confused." She started to pull the contents back together, and Caleb helped her.

"She's okay. PTSD," he explained, ducking his head down, embarrassed for her. Not that the others seemed willing to forgive her just yet.

Her supervisor, Carl, called her into his office immediately when she stepped back into the building. "Tris, come on." He smiled and patted her gently on the back as he brought her in. Johanna was already there, wearing a concerned expression.

"I'm sorry about today, it won't happen again," she stated, eyes averted.

"I don't think you can make that promise." Johanna's voice was smooth and soothing. "It was a horrible few months. For you, I gather it was worse than for others." Tris didn't like comparisons, like her losses were worth more than others or that somehow she was more damaged. "I'm concerned about you, whether this is the right position."

"I love this work," she lied. She loved the access it gave her.

"I'm not proposing we take it away from you," Johanna clarified, "But I also don't want to risk your health. I've heard about this new technique for getting through tough times like these. I want you to consider going. It's called a support group. People with challenges helping each other." She passed a small note to her. "I'd really like you to consider it. Until I have some assurances that you're dealing with these demons, I'm going to ask that the leaders meet you in the entrances of their facilities. Keep you out of specific places that may hold too many memories."

Tris nodded, taking the note. It felt like she was admitting her weakness for the first time outside of her own head. In Abnegation she learned from her mistakes, her guilt; she let it make her stronger. No one else could help her do that. In Dauntless she learned the skills and trained her body; Tobias didn't make her strong, he helped her hide.

Accepting help or expecting help or thinking that there was some magical group she could go to that would make this all better was a lie. She would have to make herself strong again. She tucked the note in her pocket, only because throwing it away in front of them would be rude.

* * *

She arrived home late, again, to Caleb pulling her dinner out of the refrigerator and sliding an envelope across the table to her. She expected Christina's hand writing, but it wasn't. Matthew's letter was dated at the end of December, almost two weeks since she'd last heard from him. She missed him and how his voice sounded so emotive when he was reading to her or delivering his opinion like a lecture. She felt so free just being around him.

He always started very formally- this time informing her that he was now the liaison between the Bureau's scientists and Chicago's. He'd be in the city in a week and would come by to see her.

And then he'd switch -like he couldn't help himself to break out of the regiment of being a scientist- and fill his letters with compliments and well wishes, and this time an excited plea for her to give him a personal tour of the city.

She read and re-read, letting the inkling of real excitement fill her. Caleb looked relieved when she told him the details. It didn't take his body more than a second to help her realize what a burden she was to him.

He made sure she was up in the morning since the pills she took to sleep often took longer to wear off. He made sure she ate at least twice a day, doing most of the cooking. He also did almost all of the chores. He would get home at almost the same time each day while she would stay as long as she could with each person getting their history. She'd come home and dinner would be ready. And so would Caleb. He'd be prepared with some topic to talk about and fill the rest of the night, something that would keep her mind with him and not off on its own.

"What can I do differently?" she asked, picking up the plates and taking them to the sink.  
He looked back at her, concern etched on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"I realize that I've been selfish with you," she started. The guilt washed all across her face, the usual sign that her next dose was pending. "You cook, you clean, you keep me company. Without you I probably wouldn't take the right pills or do the physical therapy. I mean, I can't even wake up without you in the morning. It doesn't seem fair and I want this to be fair," she said emphatically, "So what should I do differently?"

"Honestly?" he asked as he started to distribute her doses from each bottle.

"Yeah." She took them from him and eyed them in the palm of her hand, weighing them against fleeting thoughts.

"I think we should split the chores, you know like we did growing up. Maybe you could be home at a more predictable time, so if I wanted to do something I would know when to be back so you're not alone." He sighed and smiled, passing her a glass of water.

"Okay, so chores. I'll get some paper." She pulled the pad out of her bag and they began the discussion into the division and the expectations. She took the pile of pills with her when she was done.

She sat on the edge of her mattress holding the last pill of the night; the one that she required to sleep. She thought for a second about what the word required really meant. If she didn't take it, would she die? No. If she didn't take it she would dream and those dreams would scare her so badly that she would stand in the middle of the room to keep her body from shutting itself down.

Her hand shook as she rolled it between her fingers and felt how small it was, then set it on the table. "Be brave, Tris." She told herself, and laid down.

She focused on her neck and shoulders, one muscle at a time, until she was relaxed and fading off to sleep. An hour later, she was startled awake by something too far away from her memory for her to grab; it took another thirty minutes to get her heart to calm down and her shoulders to relax. She took deep, measured breaths and closed her eyes. When she woke up just before her alarm, she did remember a less terror inducing dream.

Tobias was held between the black coats of Dauntless guards. She sat next to Matthew on a dais in a large hall- they had their hands clasped together. She knew for certain that she and Matthew were together. Tobias' head was hanging and his feet were dragging as they pulled him forward in front of them. When he raised his head, Matthew pulled her hand to his lips and smiled greedily. All the color drained from Tobias' face like water dripping down a pane of glass. He was in black and white and when the color puddled around his feet, the guards let him fall, stiff and light like cardboard into the pool.

When she eyed the clock and saw the number flick up, she was nearly all the parts of a grieving woman at once: isolated, angry, bargaining, depressed, but she was not accepting. A part of her deep inside knew that she'd made a mistake and she could fix it, if only he was here for her to try. But there was the rational part that knew he was gone and never coming back. And he was better off away from her.

She let herself sit and grieve, no tears left to leech out until the clock flipped up again and the alarm started to sound, Caleb coming in seconds later. He was startled to see her sitting up in bed, hugging her legs to her chest, a cheek on her knees.

"Beatrice? Did you sleep okay?" He approached slowly and she uncurled, setting her feet on the floor.

"No."

He saw the pills out on her side table. "Did you take your medication?"

"No."

"Why not?" She shrugged. "I don't think you should be doing that on your own. These are very powerful medications. If you want to come off of them, you need to do it under supervision."

"Would you let me?"

"Will you tell me if you get thoughts again?"

"Yeah."

She stood and took the pile of pills he had hidden in his fist, picked out the pill to wake herself up, and tossed them back.


	6. CH6: Fresh Hell, Part 1 of 2

**Violence and Sexual content within this chapter and the next, your fair warning. Editing provided by Milner.**

With each weekly letter from Christina, Four felt duty-bound to respond immediately. They must have seemed like form letters for the first few. He talked about working on rebuilding roads and infrastructure in the dead of winter- the only change would be the mark of the miles of progress or the weather. But the work slow-down gave him something new to talk about. He didn't say much about his role in it, just that they were trying to get better conditions for everyone.

In reality, he was into the strike deeper than he wanted to be, and a series of incidents and bad decisions battered his fresh start into a nightmare. Each letter that avoided the details felt like a lie.

At first Winston just asked him for his ideas. Then they all wanted him at a meeting. When his presence seemed to unnerve the negotiators, they wanted him there every meeting. Something about his youth and his coming from Dauntless made the administrators weary and the meetings more effective. The side effect being clear progress on their demands and violent retribution perpetrated on the workers in the city.

On one morning of his camp's day to strike, they woke before the sun thought to peek above the edge, only to find that the doors had been sealed from the outside and smoke was filling the hall from the heating grates. Four was caught between bodies as men pounded against the doors without success, coughing and gagging. He pushed his way back to the vacant center, listening to the screams and shouts.

A few people tried to get control, but panic was overtaking their calls. Men fell beneath the feet of others and cried out as their bones cracked and the air was pressed out of their bodies. He quickly looked for an alternative. If the doors were locked, the windows were the only option. He looked up the long pipes that ran to the old sprinkler system, long disconnected, and the windows about two stories up.

He wrapped his hands around a pipe and fixed his legs to use the wall for grip. Slowly he climbed one hand over the other holding as tightly as he could, gagging on the increasing cloud and avoiding looking down. The higher he got the thicker the smoke, and the less efficient his lungs were. But he made it to the boarded windows.

A ledge about six inches wide wrapped around the building just under the windows. He balanced on the balls of his feet and awkwardly braced against the top of the window wells. He pulled a board off and looked outside, hoping to see some way to the ground. To his right, about twenty feet down, a ladder went over half the way to the ground from the roof. He started to shuffle and noticed Rafael right beside him.

"What are you doing?" Four asked. "It's dangerous up here."

"I'm not dying," he exclaimed. "Come on, let's move."

Rafael encouraged him as they carefully shuffled along the ledge. Four pulled off the board, letting it fall outside, before leaning out to grip the ladder. He shook it to make sure it was still attached. The fresh air was a calming relief, but the glimpse of the ground brought a curse up from his gut. It was easily two or three stories. At first he blushed; he'd been up higher, but every time with more stable tools than the rusted rungs at his disposal.

"Wait for me to get down before you go, it might come off the wall with two of us," he warned before lowering himself down the rusted rails until he was only holding on by his arms, legs swinging free. He dropped.

When his boots hit the ground, he felt the painful shock up his body and rolled to absorb it, but his knee still twinged. He helped arrest Rafael's decent as much as he could without getting clobbered, getting an elbow to the neck as his reward.

They made their way to the front door where a group of on-looking city men were watching, smiles on their faces as they heard the screams and calls.

Four seized one by the collar and pulled his neck to the side, as if he could rip it off. Holding the coward distended and vulnerable, he felt powerful and in control.

The rest of the group responded in shock and bargained their friend for the key to the heavy chains that secured the door. Unfortunately for them, the evacuating crowd swallowed them up like locusts. Four helped to roll the bodies down the embankment of the river and through a hole they cut into the ice.

Not more than a week after, small groups of men coming and going between the camps and the bars or the shopping area in town started to get attacked. Some were just beaten, but a few were killed. Four, Rafael, and Liam were among those foolish enough to walk the three blocks home in a small group.

While they thought they were safe, clearly in the darkened and disused wrong-side of the city, they were followed by three men. Liam saw them first and quietly pointed them out to Four, who stiffened and prepared.

"It's okay," he said, feeling his pulse quicken and focusing on the shuffle of the pursuing feet. His main concern was keeping his companions calm and hoping they weren't armed.

"There are three of them," Rafael stated, eyes fearful and wide. Four recognized the pupil dilation as a sure sign his companion wouldn't be much assistance.

"One will go for each of us. You just have to take a few punches, try to get some damage in yourself. I'll do the rest," he instructed, trying to assure them as much and as quickly as possible.

When they hit the first pitch-black alley outside of the street lights, the foot steps quickened in a sprint and the fists flew in the darkness. Liam and Rafael floundered and kicked the best they could. The sound of moans and grunts and the smack of flesh against flesh causing further confusion for the ill prepared men.

"Okay? Are you okay?" Four called heaving heavy breaths, and getting knocked down by Rafael's frantic punch. "Get up, moron," he griped, pulling him up by his collar. "Okay?" he asked.

Rafael could just make out the bodies on the ground behind them, rolling slightly as they started to evaluate the damages.

"You did that?" Rafael lingered, staring. Four grabbed him by the coat and forced him into a jog.

"Come on." Four pulled his jackets tighter around his neck and protectively held what he suspected to be a bruised hand but the way it stung it could have been broken.

He didn't mention any of this to Christina. He thought about it, but he didn't want to worry her. He left for a fresh start and he didn't want the reality to tint her view any further on his leaving. It was clear from most of her letters that she disagreed with his decision, calling it a waste and exaggerating the ease of life she found in the Bureau. The last thing he wanted was to be a disappointment to yet another person, so he kept writing near carbon copies of the same letter each week.

In each letter she returned, she asked many invasive questions; he'd come to expect the frankness. He didn't concede to her most persistent query. His hand shook too bad with anxiety anytime he considered mentioning Matilda -who he knew was a bad decision from the start- and writing it down would make it real.

He'd met her in the Mayor's office. She was a quiet secretary, a decade older than him, rushing from room to room with copies and a coy smile. Her hips would sway as she walked away and he didn't even try to keep from looking. He was so tired of controlling himself, monitoring his behavior, and without many women around, it was easy for him to be distracted by her.

She was Tris's opposite: caramel skin, deep brown eyes, thick lips, more than a handful up top and curved out at the bottom. He was embarrassed by the rashness, the recklessness, the complete break with his philosophy on sex and affection. It wasn't a relationship but an arrangement.

She had approached him, bringing a pitcher of water to the table in the middle of a long day of negotiation, struck up a conversation, and later when he was heading out of the building with Steven and Winston, he found her waiting for her taxi.

"Have a nice night, Matilda." He smiled, pausing to pull on his gloves and hat before following the other men outside. It started without any pretense on his part, but there was something about her smile that made him pause.

"Stay warm," she replied and looked at her watch. Her long neck stretched to the side and her collarbones exposed. Her hand landed on her neck and softly scratched against her skin.

"Late again?" he asked. It seemed there was always someone waiting on a taxi, but she looked like she was inviting a conversation.

"Yep. I've called twice." She looked around the dark foyer, afraid of the shadows, or at least feigning to draw him in. He knew the streets weren't safe- not anywhere. Not even for the workers let alone a woman.

"I can walk you home, are you close?" A safe question if he was reading it wrong.

"Really, I can wait, I don't have anywhere to be," she sighed.

"I can walk you, it's not a problem," he offered. "Least I can do for you being so civil today. That must have gotten you into trouble. Do you live far?"

"Oh, no. Just three blocks. It's just not safe, you know, especially not by myself."

"I can keep you safe." He offered his arm. She looked him up and down, evaluated, then hooked her arm through his "Now, which way?"

It was too soon to claim success, but this was the furthest any of his attempts had brought him. Well, any attempt besides Tris. But he pressed her out of his mind; She wasn't here. She'd never be here, and she'd never be his. He had to focus hard to squelch the anger that was always just below the surface.

She lead him back along the sidewalk lined street, a whole section in the dark. He kept an alert eye out and an ear listening for any of the telltale signs of an attack. And he kept her talking, quietly, and about nothing important. One thing Zeke had said over and over when he was priming him for dates: girls love to talk about themselves, just ask them questions. The fact that that's where his mind went made him feel even more out of place. This wasn't a date, but the advice was working.

"So, this is me," she smiled, outside the house.

"Glad I could get you home. You'd probably still be waiting on a taxi." He smiled, eyebrow arched and eager.

"I was happy for the company." She paused, then tilted her head, "Would you like to come inside?"

He didn't need Zeke's code book to know what she meant. Months of passing up the prostitutes and no privacy in the warehouses, it wasn't a hard choice. A put together woman with her wits about her and no other incentive than her own pleasures she was offering.

Maybe Zeke would have said something brash and forward to set the stage a little better, but Four could only blush and return an affirmative and quiet, "Yeah."

The house was warm and the floors were polished wood. Framed art hung on the wall and it smelled like cinnamon. It was extravagant by any Chicago standard, and in comparison to the damp and rat-infested warehouse, like an oasis in a frozen dessert. She tugged him through a hallway that passed behind the exposed, grand staircase to a room too void of objects to be her actual bedroom.

She hesitantly touched her lips to his and parted them with her tongue, his body stiff and unresponsive at first. His inexperience was showing in his mechanical motions. Her hands pushed his coat of his shoulders and her hands pushed up under his shirt. He surprised himself at how fast his hands seemed to figure out where to go and what to do. Her clothes fell to the floor as fast as his own as they sped past the pleasantries. She pulled a pouch out of the side table; and without any excuses or apologies, she pushed him over onto the bed.

He was on his back under her insistent hips, forgetting what little he knew from being in love and losing himself in an instinctive lust. Then his only other experience chimed in to the back of his head, and the anger started to take him over. He pushed her up off of him and over onto her back in a swift motion clutching around her shoulders with one arm and wrapping around the back of her head with the other. He held her solidly, fixed under him, cheek to cheek and without escape.

She was the wrong size. She smelled of the wrong, acrid perfume. Her plentiful moans sounded tinny and her tongue tasted of something he'd never eaten and everything she knew how to do was done too well. He ignored the piteous encouragements as she called out and let the anger filled thrusts prioritize his climax, hers being the least of his concern. She squirmed under him until he was exhausted and spent on top of her.

"That was angry sex," she panted, then laughed, amused. "Whoever she is, you tell her thank you when you see her next." Everything about her annoyed him in an instant and he couldn't join her revelry. He was a raw bundle of nerves, getting dressed and slinking back out into the cold.

It was the first in series of a dozen, selfish encounters. His body needed the release. His mind wanted to punish someone for what Tris had done, and Matilda liked it fast and a little rough.

Most of their liaisons were at her work, after hours, after long meetings. She would pull him into closets on his way out of the building and crush into him with a fervent want. But other times she drug him back to the little room in the warm house and she traced designs on his skin as they relaxed against the pillows afterwards. She touched his tattoo over his shoulder and asked him questions, like lovers do, but he wouldn't answer. That was not for her.

After seeing the residual bruising from his own rough handling, he was less able to enact his rage out on her body, even though she demanded it. Each time she asked him to hold her down, it made him long for that innocent, awkward first time, all the while feeling it slip further and further away. His tolerance to the notion of never feeling that way again was decreasing and the home sickness swept in to replace the resentment.

The encounters swiftly became routine, mundane; carrying duty and not excitement. He couldn't feel satisfied and he didn't know what to do. The only thing he knew was from observing others in Dauntless.

At a certain point, couples would settle into something less physical and more emotional. Maybe that's what he was supposed to do here. Zeke had made that transition with Shauna, so he thought he had to at least try.

"Do you ever want to go out?" he asked, fixing his clothes. "I could take you to a show, or something." It sounded as much like a chore as it felt when he said it out loud. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Maybe life here is different from Chicago," she started. "It's not really OK to do that here."

Now she was confusing him.

"People still date in Milwaukee, don't they?"

"Not when they're married to other people." She laughed and his heart flipped.

"You're married?" His hand immediately combed across his cheeks like that would wash himself clean. She just nodded. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I thought you knew." She held up her right hand that displayed the fancy blue stones. She pulled her hair back up, fixing pins in place as she went. "It's not like a happy marriage, or anything. He's a much bigger cheater."

In Chicago, at least in Abnegation, they wore plain simple bands on their left hands. _Left hands _he shouted in his head.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" His temper was on the rise, he had to remind himself not to do anything stupid.

"Look, Four, you're handsome and strong and so, so hot." She put her hands on his chest, but she was repulsively forward when she put her hand on his genitals. "Don't deny it, you're having fun too." He smacked her hand away, a little harder than he intended, but he felt satisfied in her flinch.

He shook her off, absolutely disappointed and ashamed in himself. He had to concentrate on holding his chin up as he passed people in the hallway. He avoided her, as much as he could. He would pass her in the hallway sternly evaluating how wounded she looked, taking some joy in her growing distress day after day. Not that he didn't have to exercise some willpower in deflecting her advances at the start of his silent treatment. He thought he'd put the bad decisions behind him, but it was just the beginning of a long February.


	7. CH7: Fresh Hell, Part 2 of 2

**Edits provided by Milner. Violence and sekual acts take place within this chapter.**

It wasn't more than two days after ending it with Matilda before his body started to crave an escape. The time with Matilda had been the closest he'd come to forgetting about Chicago, and he needed to forget. The grating feeling in his chest had been wearing like a sore in his soul for months, and each empty walk to the work site gave him too much time to contemplate it's source. If meaningless and hasty sex could hold his focus for an hour or two, an actual relationship might hold it for longer, maybe forever.

His attention was quickly caught by someone he thought was more appropriate; a young woman that worked a shop in the city center that sold clothing. He went to the store twice that week, trying his hardest to think of the most flattering lines and deliver them like he thought Zeke might. She blushed and smiled, building his sense of confidence and success. She was a tall and skinny woman, no rings on her fingers and with deep brown hair and eyes. She wore light make-up and light pink tops that made her freckles pop out despite the powder. Each time he offered to take her out after the shop closed, or on her day off, she politely and coyly turned him down.

"I have to stay in the shop, customers might come," she said, which sounded like what someone uninterested might say. But then she'd follow it with a one-sided smile. "But I hope to see you again."

Finally getting his nerve up on his third attempt he asked, mostly joking but also desperate for her to agree to anything. "Can we both stay in the shop?"

She leaned across the counter and he leaned in as well for her to touch her lips to his. She let his hands hold her face and she kissed back eagerly and without reserve. He waved off the similarities to Matilda.

But as soon as he had her in the back room, she solicited him for money, and he felt so stupid for not seeing it sooner. He paid her ten dollars for his first vigorous and inventive encounter with oral sex. The visual of her mouth around him and his hand holding her hair back was enough that he couldn't look her in the face again.

He'd struck out two times, three counting Tris. And he was ready to throw the baby out with the bath water. He swore himself to celibacy, at least for a month, and busied himself with running longer distances and more involvement in the work houses to keep himself away from women. He knew it was probably naive to think he could hold out forever, but the round of venereal diseases among the workmen helped steady his resolve to keep away from working girls.

{}

Many of the men were willing to let him gamble away his money and pass him bottles with liquor so foul it burned his nose before it touched the back of his throat. Two of the men -Rud and Tom- picked his lubricated mind for information about Chicago. He took it as friendship, and they traded turns bad-mouthing the city folk, too wealthy to do more than push paper around offices. It felt good to commiserate and gripe, although one or two drunken statements from them told him they were far more serious than he was.

They invited him out with them, just after dark, feigning a trip to the bar instead of a bottle, which struck him as strange. A block away from the pedestrian area, they fell silent. Four could sense an uneasy nervousness between them. He glanced back and forth, but both were looking down the street before they ducked behind a wall.

"Are you ready?" Rud asked.

"What?" They pulled him back behind the bricks.

"There's a man and a prosty coming down for some fun." Rud grinned. "Time to teach him a lesson about life, right?"

"What?" He said again. When he saw the knife come out of Tom's pocket, he shook his head. "No." He backed up, unwilling to participate in what he hoped was just a robbery. But given the back and forth of violence, he now wasn't so certain.

"You said it yourself. The pricks that run this city don't appreciate what they've got." Rud hushed back, eying around the corner.

"No, this is not happening."

Now Tom's knife was firmly pointed at him, Rud's blade, longer and shining in the little light, was ready. Two blades, one dark alley, and a man and a girl approaching, close enough to hear their foot steps. Four stepped out onto the side walk.

"Sir, I recommend you and the lady head back to the lit street," he called, holding his hands up in case they lunged at him.

The man seemed confused until he saw Tom, angry and cursing, charge. But neither man was experienced enough to take on Four, and he left them on the street to tend to their bruises alone. He made mention to Winston, who disagreed that they should turn them in.

"We can't turn on each other. Not now. They'll tear us apart in the Mayor's office."

Rud and Tom eyed him at every opportunity, sneering as they passed or when they had to work together. He was certain they were behind the rash of violent attacks that were deservedly being blamed on the work camps. And as suspicion within the building started to narrow, he noticed their monitoring increasing with the rumors they sourced to him.

At the same time, there was an influx of men from outside, most of them from Indianapolis, and rations ran low as the supplies had to stretch to cover. So he went down to one meal a day as an example for others who were left with less than what they deserved. Malnutrition, along with a poorly timed ankle sprain, made him weaker and he felt the piercing eyes on his back like he wore a bright red target.

Rud found him behind the building, doing chin ups on an old fence. He was alone; Rafael had left to help move supplies. Isolated -all sound cut off by the swirl of the river- and an hour into a workout after a long cold day, he was physically spent. His ankle was still reducing his capabilities, along with his confidence.

In comparison, Rud was muscular and healthy. He'd been supplementing his rations with what he'd stolen for weeks. Four lowered himself to his feet slowly, hoping his display of strength would make his opponent turn and leave. But Rud was undeterred and pulled out his knife -twelve inches long like you'd find in a kitchen- and started to approach with a sneer on his face.

Four felt his own pocket for the small switch blade he always carried and chastised himself for not transferring it from his other pair of pants. He was injured, unarmed, and exhausted; doubt snuck into his thoughts. This could be his last fight.

"Oh my, the favorite Four. I've been waiting to have a private chat." He side stepped, his feet crossing, and Four took the opportunity to grip a long metal post that was on the ground and lunge.

Rud's feet tangled and he fell backwards, swinging the knife wildly and catching Four across the arm and his side through his coat. But Four had the pole down and across Rud's throat, the shock of it giving him a moment to punch the knife out of his hands. He positioned his knee on the bar and leaned down to cut off his wind pipe.

Rud struggled, slapping him with his hands, his face turning red and his eyes watering. He gagged and flailed. Rud had hurt people. He had attacked and stabbed and assaulted people. And here he was, attacking Four. The decision was swift and not unlike many he'd made.

The only thing Four knew was that he couldn't look away. If he was going to be able to feel the heat coming up through his legs and the spit on his face, he couldn't just look away.

He forced himself to watch the whites of his eyes turn red, the jerks of his hands lose control and power, and the fish like opening and closing of his mouth begging for air. He held him longer than he probably needed too- after his body went lax and his lips were still and purple, eyes frozen back at his. Another genetically damaged man dead in the wrong side of Milwaukee.

Rafael was standing ten feet back, approaching slowly. "Four?" he called, cautious.

Four spun around, ready to protect himself again, but Rafael wasn't an enemy. He was a horrified, terrified friend staring back at him. Four looked back at what he'd done, and fell back onto his hands in the wet dirt.

"What happened?" Rafael asked, kicking the knife covered in blood away from him, just in case.

"He came at me. With the knife." Then he felt a sting in his side and reached down to feel the slice across his hip. "He got me a couple times." He assessed it as just a graze, much like his arm.

"He's dead." Rafael checked the body for a pulse. "Oh my God. He already feels so cold." He looked startled at the evaluation. But without a beating heart the blood was already pooling away from his skin.

Four looked him up and down, realizing this must be what a normal person looks like the first time they see something so violent. "Yeah, he's dead." He admitted.

"We have to get rid of the body." This surprised Four. "No one's going to bury him, and we cant let him sit here and rot." He helped Four deposit him in the river, another body lost to the cold current.

{}

The final blow in his optimistic mission came just after Rud's disappearance stopped being murmured as another attack- just over three days. Four cautioned his disrespectful mind when he thought a day was too much to give to scum like Rud.

"Four?" Matilda called. It was the last day of a negotiation that would supplement the rent collections for additional food supplies.

He followed her into the doorway to a closet, but not inside, defensively wrapping his arms around himself. "I thought I was clear, I won't do this anymore," he said with a bored sigh.

He hadn't really dealt with the indignant emotions her lying brought up inside him, especially now amplified by his other poor judgments. She wiped away a tear and avoided looking at him. Immediately, he softened. "What's wrong?"  
"I'm pregnant, and it might be yours," she whispered.

He felt something he hadn't felt as deep since exchanging fire with the Erudite; panic. Pure panic. "What do you mean might? We used condoms," he asked in a hushed, harsh voice, stepping closer and shutting the door to keep it private.

"So did me and my husband," she hissed back, obviously not pleased with his defensive response. "My husband's black." She pursed her lips and waited for him to catch up. When his face didn't change she helped him. "If this baby is even a shade lighter than me, I'm on the street." She said it like it should be obvious.

He felt like all the air was knocked out of him; thinking quickly was impossible. "If it's mine, I'll take care of you," he offered, and he meant it.

"I want to take care of it now." The meaning of this phrase was not something he'd heard, confusion apparent in his head tilt. "I want an abortion," she spelled out. "I can't take the risk. But I can't afford it with just my money. He'll find out if I take anything from the account. He'll kill me." She swallowed. "I need the rest from you."

"I, umm, you want to kill it?" Thoughts, dozens of thoughts flowed out so he couldn't breathe, and he started to feel light headed. Anger and rage had been his dominant emotions for months. This new uneasiness was as foreign as the concept of children. This was not the plan, he was going to work hard and save money and go back to Chicago. That was the plan he never let himself admit it before, but that was the plan.

This -Matilda, Milwaukee- was just supposed to be fun. A distraction. A way to forget and to be someone else for a little while. Maybe that's why each walk home after an evening tryst felt like a thousand paper cuts in his lungs.

He needed to process faster, to decide faster. So he focused. If he said no, she would have a baby and that baby could be his or it could be someone else's. If he said yes, she would terminate something that he didn't really know could be terminated and that felt...indescribable.

"I can't lose my husband," she cried, bringing his attention and his arms around her. "I'd die on the streets. This baby will die faster." She said it so affirmative that he sensed she thought it was most likely his.

He worked hard, but he didn't earn much. There was no place for women and babies in the warehouses, and he couldn't afford anywhere else. He was a nineteen year old kid playing life like a game. This game was over. "How much?" He hated himself for asking.

"Two-fifty." It was almost all he'd saved. "Will you do it?" she pleaded. This time he just nodded, he couldn't manage to say yes.

"I'll walk you home." He took her arm, and they walked down the street, stopping to withdraw from the bank. The silence between them was welcome, and the parallels to that first walk was not lost on either of them.

She had dried her tears by the time they reached the start of her street. She walked the rest of the way alone with his money and his regrets. Now he had a new nightmare; another person that he'd never see, never be able to find.

He'd climbed up on the crane before work started and watched the sun come up unobstructed, and found solace in the familiarity of his fear of heights. It distracted him from this new disappointment.

While he was slowly falling apart, one guilt riddled nightmare at a time, the strike completed successfully. The long list of demands was slowly becoming shorter with each negotiation and the compromises were few. But the win felt hollow. Working the soil and laying the layers of road base and surface was honest work with ample time to let his guilty mind drift.

For days, he went back and forth over his decision, questioning if he could get to her and convince her not to. Then he'd remind himself that it was her decision, her future. But that just made him angry. Why did she have all the control? If she gave him the baby, how would he care for it? Could he keep it alive at the work site, find someone to care for it? Unlikely.

He knew he wasn't in control of his emotions, so he avoided Rafael's prying glances and Liam's paternal worry; depression closed in on him with the thought that if this was starting over, why did feel like everything was crushing in again?


	8. CH8: Fox at the Hen House

**AN: Trigger warning – there is sexual content within this chapter which does not model consensual behavior.**

Caleb got home from work to start dinner for one. It was one of the late nights he and Tris had talked about in the weekly scheduling meeting; she'd be responsible for herself. He liked the idea that she was responsible for herself sometimes. To him, this was the definition of progress- an independent sister. He was bringing a pan of oil with a sprig of rosemary up to temperature when a quiet rap at the door caught his attention.

They didn't commonly have visitors; the most regular and hardly ever announced being Susan. He felt the giddy delight at the thought that she was stopping by on her way home from some activity. She never went far out of her way, but when she was helping with the former-factionless in the area, she liked to stop in to see if they needed any help. It was clearly an excuse to see him.

Although she never talked much about how she felt, her actions were blatant to him. He was formulating a game plan over his lunch hour to win her over. He could tell she still enjoyed their quiet, calm talks at the table over tea and this formed the cornerstone of his strategy.

"Ah," he exclaimed, unable to hide his disappointment.  
"Sorry, didn't Tris tell you about my letter?" Matthew asked politely, his bag in hand, a wind-swept look to him.

"Oh, she did, but I guess I was expecting someone else is all, someone for me." He opened the door wider,."You are welcome to come in, but Beatrice isn't home yet." He hung his coat up on the hook by the door. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" He hoped the answer was no.

"You don't wait for her?"  
"Not on Tuesdays, she's usually out at Candor. They like to talk a lot."

When Matthew made no move to leave, he pulled out a second chicken breast as a concession, adding salt as the only seasoning. He looked Matthew up and down before pulling out a second can of vegetables from the pantry, assuming he'd eat more than Tris. He also assumed Tris might be home earlier than planned. He'd spent years hiding his irritation in politeness, the only reason he could make dinner without verbal complaint.

"Oh, I didn't realize there was so much involved in distributing supplies these days." Caleb could tell he was hunting, it seemed innocent enough to share.

"It's for her research."

"Eh?"

"Yeah, she's recording the firsthand accounts of the residents of Chicago- got quite a lot of notes and recordings. It's quite impressive what she's managed to collect. I'm surprised she didn't tell you." The meat sizzled when he dropped it into the skillet. He hoped the noise would put him off of the conversation.

"I don't think she likes writing letters," he muses, "They're always a paragraph. To the point and not much flourish."

"So, you're here for what?" Caleb just wanted one night without worrying about his sister. And while he told himself he didn't mind Matthew, he was concerned about his influence over her.

He estimated him to be in his mid to late twenties, which bothered him, but it was also his finely tuned social demeanor and how she deferred to his opinions. Matthew was a charmer. He had a snappy statement along with a happy attitude that carried interactions. With Tris coming off her medications, a swing of emotions came with it. He worried about anyone -including Matthew- taking advantage. And this visit felt intrusive; targeted.

"Inter-facility collaboration meetings. We want to make sure that our research isn't overlapping unnecessarily, and where parallel experiments are taking place the results are shared," he said fluidly, like it was rehearsed; it probably was.

"Very logical. Only so many minds between the two places."  
"Exactly." Matthew took a seat at the table, relaxed, watching Caleb in the kitchen.

"So how is Tris? Candidly. I'm concerned about her given the shortness of her letters."

"Beatrice is doing much better. Very encouraging in the last few weeks," he admitted. "I think the routine is helping. The work is keeping her busy, her project is keeping her focused, and I think she's actually trying to process what happened."

"Well all that sounds very positive. Is she sticking to her medication? It's very important to keep to the schedule."

"She's made some changes." Caleb didn't like talking about her without her there- it was too close to gossip. He'd already said enough.

"That doesn't seem very wise. She's fragile. Maintaining that balance might be the only thing that keeps her sane."

"It's between her and the doctors." Caleb smiled politely, but the word fragile certainly didn't apply to his sister. "It's not our place to contradict someone else's expertise."

"Constructive challenge is how everyone gets better." It was a direct quote from the Erudite initiation speech. He said it like Caleb was derelict in his duty to keep Tris healthy, and at the same time revealing his own agenda to keep her capacities diminished. It wasn't just impolite, it was overstepping the boundaries that Caleb had securely put around his sister.

Just when Caleb was going to get more forceful with a full statement of '_back off_,' Tris came through the door with her bag of paper and recording devices. He counted to ten when he turned back to his dinner.

"Oh, hello Matthew!" she exclaimed. "I thought I saw you get off a train today." She dumped her bag roughly on the floor, crossing the room with a big, genuine smile to hug him as he stood. This left Caleb conflicted about his presence. He tried to balance the value of her feeling something sincerely joyfully against the potential for manipulation. There just wasn't enough data to draw conclusions.

"Tris! I am so glad to see you." He squeezed her tight, holding her for a little longer than Caleb thought was appropriate, especially since his presence should dictate some awkwardness. His obnoxious pan clattering accompanied by throat clearing broke Tris away. She encouraged Matthew to join her at the table, sitting across from him, not to his side- the decorum expected in Abnegation.

They had tentative, basic conversation over dinner about the new government officials that are cleaning up the Bureau, and how they're evaluating a long term plan to integrate Chicago. They talked about Matthew's new role and where he saw the greatest advantages between the sites.

Caleb suddenly understood the sideways glances between Beatrice and Robert at the lunch table at school. It was uncomfortable to watch the Abnegation style of flirting taking place over chicken and vegetables.

"Well, I have the dishes." Tris started to clear the plates. "Caleb, don't you have a team meeting back at the lab tonight?" she asked. He looked back confused, then realized she was asking him to leave.

"Yeah, um, I do. Thanks for the reminder. I'll just grab my things and leave in a few." He didn't really want to leave them alone, but he felt silly about it, given the facts. They had been alone dozens of times in the Bureau without any ill event. So he gathered his items, determined to pay Susan a visit in the Abnegation sector of the city and set up stage one of his courtship plan.

"So, have you thought about my proposal?" Matthew asked, leaning against the counter next to her.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And...okay." She blushed. "But, I'm sure there are better people to give you a tour. And the weather would be nicer in the spring," she trailed off.

"But you're the only one that I want. I don't know if I can wait until spring." He set the plates in the sink. "These will still be here when we get back." He dried her hands.

She leaned into his touch, suddenly conscious of her own desire to be held, comforted. As he put his lips to her temple, her hands snaking around his waist, and his around her shoulders. She let him hold her; he was so warm.

The compression of that embrace stopped all the chatter in her mind and the nervous energy disappeared. Tobias had been the last one to hold her like this -just hold, not talking- not expecting anything more than what it was. She was lonely for this down to the depths of her soul.

He broke the moment- his lips were falling down her hairline, to her ear, then her cheek, until his hands cupped her chin bringing her lips to his. The immediate comparisons were made: his lips were thinner, rough, chapped by the cold; his fingers soft, without callouses; he wasn't as tall or as broad in the shoulders; his hair was long and tickled her cheek. She had to push those thoughts from her mind to focus on what was happening right in front of her as the touch between them became more than comfort; it was a need.

He put his hands down on her waist and pushed her against the counter, then aggressively gripped her thighs to prop her up to sit more level with him. She lost all responsibility for what her hands did next.

One tangled in his hair- more than a handful to grab a hold of; the other unbuttoned his shirt starting at the collar. She could tell the second that he realized what she'd done- his lips left hers, dragging over her neck, pulling a throaty moan with them. His hands explored her body, threading up under her shirt. When she had all the buttons undone on his top, he carried her into her bedroom.

When he sat her down on the bed, she slithered backwards to the headboard. He pursued, pulling at her pants as she went. He unbuttoned his fly, pulled them down, and kicked them off the bed. He didn't ask. He didn't wait for her to pause or second guess. He put his fingers under her panties and pulled on them. He kissed just above the fabric all the way down her leg to her ankle. He stared down at her, half exposed, before collapsing on top of her, taking possession.

She suddenly felt panicked as the reality of his knees roughly pushing between hers overtook the chemicals that dimmed her fear to the background.

A man was on top of her.

She was entirely vulnerable to him, and then he was inside her. The pinch of her inexperience was much less than her first time, but still tender, effectively breaking the spell. She wasn't overtaken by impulse anymore as she registered her compromising position. She pushed up on his chest, but he didn't budge.

"Stop," she asked. "Please, stop." He kept thrusting, working himself deeper into her until there wasn't any space between them. Her breathing became hampered by the pressure of his weight against her ribs. She pushed again. "Stop. Matthew."

He paused with an agitated groan. "Are you okay?" He kissed her temple quickly and mechanically, she could feel his hips moving just slightly.

"Stop, we should be using protection." She pushed him again, this time using her knuckles against his hip bone, getting an irritated response. He ran her hands up from his hips to above her head then locked his fingers between hers. Her instincts told her to struggle, but her experience in her landscape helped her make a decision to stay still.

"It's okay." He smiled against her ear. "It's okay. I'll pull out, I promise," he assured her, slipping back in a millimeter at a time.

"Will that work?" Tugging to release her hands, she tried to remember health class, but she had assumed the expected Abnegation position of face red, diverted politely and missed the entire class. It didn't seem right.

"I think we should use a condom," she stated as calmly as possible, but he was already pushing down on her hands, eagerly restarting his rhythm. She pulled in short jerks, trying to get free, each pull escalating towards panic until he released her hands. She took deep breaths while he kissed her neck holding her hips in place.

"You feel so good," he gasped. "Trust me, it'll be okay. Just trust me." Having her hands free made her feel a little better. She wanted to trust him. She had already trusted him.

Despite her misgivings, she deferred to his experience, reluctantly choosing to ignore her anxiety. Letting him do what he wanted was easier than fighting. It started to feel like he was pulling small tears into her as she ran out of lubrication, the repetitive penetration doing nothing to keep her stimulated. But he cooed into her ear, accelerating her panic, praying she could trust him until he finally spilled out onto the sheets.

He flopped off of her, arms and legs sprawled out. "That was amazing," he sighed, rubbing his chest and arms. He caught his breath slowly and with relief. She took little gulps to calm her nerves as she ran thought what had just happened. "I'm so glad we could just be together, you know without all the dancing around of dating. I feel so relaxed around you, like you really know me."

And that should have felt good, to have someone feel that way about her, but no words could make her feel anything other than confused and slightly sick. She told herself it was her fault for not knowing what to do.

She felt like crying, but instead she excused herself to clean up in the bathroom, grabbing pajama bottoms on the way. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was messy, so she combed it. Her mouth felt acrid and dirty, so she brushed her teeth. Her inner thighs felt moist and used. She found a towel from the morning to freshen up as much as possible. Then pulled on the bottoms.

Christina had once told her that it took practice to get good at sex. She concluded that to be the source of the hollow feeling of being unsatisfied; her lack of practice. She washed her face before she returned to her room where Matthew was buttoning up, preparing to leave.

"I have an early meeting in the morning, Johanna set me up with a room over in the government offices. I'd really like it if you could come by tomorrow, maybe we can take that tour. Or, you know, have some more fun." He kissed her forehead and rubbed her arms quickly like she was cold, instead leaving her with a chill up her spine.

"Yeah, I'll try to stop by," she said automatically. She was side struck by his sudden departure. He didn't even hug her. He didn't say anything nice to her. It felt too casual given the gravity of their contact, but she let him go without expressing her disappointment. She sank into the chair at the kitchen table before being overcome by regret.

Nothing had happened the way she thought. She'd assumed they would have dinner or go for a walk around the city and part ways in the lobby of her building, maybe at her door. If she thought anything would happen, she would have been better prepared. She'd have stopped at the dispenser in the health clinic after her last appointment, or asked about protecting herself.

Thinking about the stain on her sheets, she wanted to clean and be clean. She patiently finished the dishes so that Caleb wouldn't suspect anything, then pulled her sheets into the washing machine before getting into a shower made cold by not enough hot water for both.

Caleb was in the kitchen reading when she went to retrieve her bedding. One look, just a look of acknowledgment, and she started to turn red and couldn't keep the tears from coming down her face.

"Beatrice? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She pushed past him to pushed the wet linens into the dryer. Caleb's eyes went back and forth between the sheets and her, questioning with raised eyebrows. "Nothing." She slammed the door when she rushed back into her room. She cried on the edge of her bed, face in her palms. He knocked and she called, "Go away." He entered anyways.

"Beatrice, what happened?" He looked at the stripped bed, then sighed, "Did he, umm, did you sleep together?" His face mirrored hers, determined not to make eye contact. She didn't answer she just cried. "Did he force you?"

"No," she croaked. "He didn't make me." It felt like a lie.

"Then, why are you crying?"

"I can't believe we're talking about this." She turned away from him, wiping her eyes.

"You know, it's perfectly natural. Healthy bodies have a natural drive to reproduce, resulting in feelings..." He tried to be as clinical as he could, but she just huffed in embarrassment. "All I'm trying to say, is that all that Abnegation crap about the purpose of touch is a layering of cultural norms due to the inherent risks with promiscuous sex." Again another huff. "Just use protection. That's what Erudite says." He shrugged. "Can't imagine Dauntless to be any different." But he was still helpless for ways to help her. "I don't judge you for your choices about your body," he added for good measure.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "Thanks for not being disappointed."

"Yeah," he assured, stepping out back into the common space.

She barely made it to the click of her door before bursting into a sob, remembering the middle ground Tobias had talked about, between marriage and reckless abandon. And tonight was as far to reckless as she could imagine in the moment.

She couldn't bring herself to make the trip the next day. She received a letter a week later declaring his affections for her and announcing his next visit. She had a week to think about what she'd done, and she bobbled back and forth between declaring herself adult enough, passing it off as how things should be, and hating herself for being so rash. She decided she wouldn't respond. She wouldn't see him again.

{}

Unfortunately, Tris ran into him in the hallway as he was heading into Johanna's office and she was leaving with her boss. Again, he surprised her with the ease in which he greeted her, like he didn't sense her demeanor. He whispered a time and his room number in her ear.

She told herself she'd avoid him, yet, she found herself just outside the room, tucked back in the government building next to Candor, a few flights up from her own office.

She felt cheap and foolish with a roll of condoms freshly plucked from the medical center in her bag, even though she had no intention of having sex. She came to talk, to discuss what she wanted from the relationship, if that's what it was. She firmly told herself she'd postpone being intimate again until it was clear. She knocked and immediately heard the shuffle behind it.

"Tris." He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her lips, pulling her inside in a smooth motion. Everything felt so awkward to her, made even more so by how confident he was with his touches and his words. Before she could examine or discuss, he had her on the bed, discarding her clothes. She put her hand over his mouth just as he was pulling his boxers off.

"Condom," she squeaked. "In my bag." If this was going to happen, she was going to protect herself.

"Okay." He smiled, stepping over to her bag to produce the requested ribbon.

She hadn't really looked at him before, not in that way. He was thin; his physique was one of disuse and neglect, cultivated by hours in the lab or behind a desk, the most vigorous activity walking room to room.

And in comparison to the multitudes of naked boys she'd seen in initiation, he didn't have the defined abdominal muscles or capable arms that she'd come to expect. But he did have a boyish grin as he looked at her that told her he was excited to be with her. And she told herself that that was enough.

He crawled back on top of her, pulling at her shirt, exposing her. His eyes flickered over her. A thought briefly crossed his face but was swiftly covered up by him kissing her and rolling the condom on. This time felt better, not painful or overly uncomfortable. And towards the end she even felt a tingling pleasure that made her want him to keep going past his capabilities.

He rolled off of her, melting into the bed. She felt the flush start to subside from her chest and neck. Then rolled over onto her side to see him lying with his eyes closed. He chuckled, a little smile picking at the edges of his lips. He peeked out of the corner of his sleepy eyelids, and Tris thought he looked sweet, even adorable in this position. Maybe it was okay to just let this happen, not to over analyze or over prescribe. Then he sighed a heavy sigh.

"What?" She asked, putting her hand on his chest and laying her head down next to his shoulder.

"I was just wondering if there was something we could do about your scars. You know, decrease the pigment contrast or make them smoother. They're just awful to look at. What a shame."

She looked down at the red lines that crossed her chest and torso. The most prominent marking a life-threatening exit wound and the following reconstruction just above her heart, slicing her bottom raven in two. She was not okay. She was not ready to have her survival become her enemy. She rolled off the bed finding her shirt first, then her underwear, pants, socks, collecting each article. She couldn't get dressed fast enough to remove herself from his presence.

"Hey, you can stay the night if you want," he called, from the bed. "I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon." It was clear that he didn't understand, but she didn't have the will to explain.

"I'd rather be anywhere else." She kept her face away from him so he couldn't see the water bubbling on the rim of her eyes. She only stopped to put on her coat when she got in the elevator.

It was a cold, ten minute walk down the street to the front doors of her building. Her tears had frozen on her cheeks in the subzero air, but she hadn't calmed all her thoughts. She looked up- the building had only been partially refinished and the lights were on only halfway up the building. She took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, the last floor that would operate. Then she walked to the stairwell and climbed the remaining seven flights to the little door at the top.

The view from the top of the Hancock Building was better, less obscured by the other buildings, but the feeling of being two steps from flying was still the same. She unbuttoned her jacket to release the heat after the climb. The wind whipped through the layers in a familiar and unnerving way.

She recalled being in Four's landscape high above the street, and her heart hurt, fresh and fearsome. She felt unworthy before; she was redefining that feeling now. She let out a silent prayer for him to be happy, healthy, and moving on. Especially to be moving on.

And for two seconds she thought about dropping her legs over the edge, because she'd promised to live a good life, and it felt like it would never be good again.

She didn't answer Matthew's next letter, and Caleb didn't press.

**Includes the edits graciously provided by Milner.**

**Any thoughts on the chapter can be expressed below in the review box.**


	9. CH9: Last Straw

**Edits graciously provided by Milner, go read one of her fics now. You won't be sorry.**

Another letter from Christina, this one with a newspaper clipping and a circle around his face. He didn't realize anyone took a picture that day at the work office, or that anyone outside of the city was even interested. She asked if it was him, insisting that if it was, he should find a shower somewhere to clean up. He laughed a little, missing her honest humor.

She was now in charge of the housing units for the transient center, a new department that focused on getting people into and out of the Bureau, which was becoming a way station. She sounded satisfied with the position, if not the bureaucracy. She also included the short statement, 'Let me know if you want to hear about Tris, or not. I'm avoiding it for now. She's okay, so don't freak.'

His letter was pretty short. He wasn't in the mood to rehash anything, mainly just confirming that he'd been involved in the labor negotiations and that he was showering regularly, although avoiding the unnecessary costs of scissors and razors.

He gave into the homesickness for a sentence to ask about jobs in Chicago- questioning if there was any room for a washed up Dauntless leader. At the end of his reply, he couldn't stop himself from asking to be told if anything drastic happened to Tris.

On Friday, Rafael collected him on his way out to the bar. They threw darts and won some money. Four laughed at his bad jokes and forgot things for a few hours. He closed his tab feeling ambivalent, which was better than depressed. But he knew if he stayed too long he'd be forced to watch the parade of prostitutes, and he wanted to avoid the temptation. On his way out, Steven joined him. He always preferred to walk with Four when it was dark and his company wasn't unwanted.

March had broken the cold with a sunny day in the fifties. The streets were swampy and filled with slush. The sound of the water melting from the ice splashed from brick building to cavernous warehouse, adding a sense of privacy while drowning out their innocuous conversation. The weather warming had called bunches of men – three, four at a time – to mill around outside the entrances, mostly joking and sharing cigarettes.

So it didn't occur to Four when they rounded the corner that the five men leaning against the wall were anything other than ordinary. His assessment changed when they fell silent and spread themselves single file out of the walkway, out of place. Four prepared himself in case it escalated.

"Is that him?" one commented, just loud enough for Four to hear him over the trickle.

"Yeah, that's him," a broad shouldered man with coal-colored skin confirmed.

Instinctively, Four put himself in front of Steven, curling his hands into fists. Steven pulled on his coat sleeve to guide him across the street, building a buffer in between. They mirrored them, walking diagonally to cut them off. Four tested his ankle; it was still sore and untrustworthy.

"We're not carrying any money," Steven commented, his hands raised.

"We're not here for money." The man spit on the ground. "I'm here to for him." He pointed.

"Steven, run. I'll be OK, get out of here." He made his voice as assuring as possible, flexing his core and rolling his fists. There wasn't any way he'd come out on top by himself, but protecting Steven would be a distraction.

Steven looked him over then back to the five men. "I'll get some guys." Four bounced in his boots to remove as much stiffness as possible while testing the traction in the slush. Steven took off down the alley as fast as his legs could carry. The men let him go.

"You know why I'm here?" the man asked. His anger was written into his posture and jutting chin, but that wasn't what ushered the dread into his stomach. It was how he was very much in control of himself and not likely to make an emotional error. It was difficult to size him up under the coats, outside of being tall and with a good reach. The other four had started to circle around the sides. Four didn't even need to glanced around- this wasn't a good place for a fight.

His best chance was to sprint out of the intersection to where he could at least put his back to the wall. A small measure that could limit their access, but then he'd be trapped if they had the upper hand. The alternative would give him exit opportunities, if he could out run them. He had to take his chances with his back to the wall, the quick dash barely giving him the distance to prepare.

The fists came fast without hesitation and were hard to block without much light. He just had to absorb and react. He shuffled and moved forward and back to throw them off. His ankle didn't fail him until the fourth man kicked his legs out and he was pinned down on the ground with a swift kick to his gut. The pressure of their bodies ground him into the pebbles of the street with each struggling thrash of his limbs.

"You got a piece of mine." The man smiled like hurting him would be as satisfying as scratching an itch. A bulky and long handled implement dangled from one of his hands. It was too dark to tell what it was, but it wasn't for tickling. "Now I'm gonna get a piece of you." The fast association between the object and his words made Four panic, unable to gain an inch.

The one holding his right arm pinned his forearm to the ground with his knee, grinding loose gravel into his skin while blocking his view with his coat tails. His jacket smelled like smoke and exhaust fumes. Four almost let the pleading in his head pass his lips when he felt cold fingers spread his digits out of a fist and pull his little finger away from the others. He knew the next motion was coming, but that wasn't enough to brace him from the pain of the pop. He couldn't contain his gasping groan.

The cold metal smelled of oil and grime when it was raked across the skin of his face. All he could focus on was the toothy grin which stood out like an apparition against the man's dark face. Sickness filled his body and bubbled up his throat. He swallowed between his shallow breaths, trying to collect enough will to pull himself out from under the mass that pinned him.

Then he saw the outline; bolt cutters. If he thought it would have done any good, he would have given in and shouted, called into the night. He would have sought help from murderers if only to avoid mutilation at the hands of a jilted husband. But dozens died on these streets calling out for no one, and he wouldn't give this man the satisfaction.

In what was too simple of a motion, he felt the cutters surround his throbbing finger, coming to absorb what was about to happen. He stayed his nerves, biting his lip to hold it all in. The edge pinched his skin, then slowly compressed so he could feel the cracks form before the break. He couldn't hear the sound of the slice over the ringing in his ears.

"Don't fuck around with married women." One last message, as they let him up, only to kick him three times in the torso and stomach. They seemingly disappeared, or he blacked out.

He pulled his hand in, the blood slippery, warm, and staining his shirt. Water from the gutter flushed his mouth as he rocked back and forth waiting for the sting to subside. He managed to push himself onto the curb, sliding back into the wall.

His finger laid in a ring of light, pink in contrast to the dirty gray of the sidewalk. He felt like he was floating, staring at someone else's appendage in a dream. Then a simple thought with a daunting execution came- he needed to get back to the camp. The disconnected feeling followed him back to the ground when he failed to stand. Shock was setting in and even thought he could label it, it didn't make him more able.

A mob of arms and hands surrounded him to pull him up and into a truck he never heard arrive. He didn't even register their words as english, just noise. They deposited him back in the warehouse and a few faceless hands held pressure on the bleeding while they pulled together blankets and heaters to warm him.

"Is he cut anywhere else?" someone called, the first coherent phrase he understood.

They were carefully removing his wet clothes, like they were searching a deadman for valuables. It didn't fully make sense to Four, why in this unprincipled camp, these men were taking care of him.

"That's some tattoo," Rafael commented with a whistle. He was the first face he recognized, the first voice. Time was starting to come back together with the images his eyes were registering.

He came out of shock like he woke from nightmares: all at once and full of panic. A man on the run from Indianapolis was performing his duties as the camp medic; inspecting and cleaning the stump as best he could.

Which was exactly the first thing Four registered when he came around; the bloody stub. It was hard at first to think that what he was seeing was real- the sight of a protruding bone from what was left of his knuckle. Fortunately for the medic, Rafael had noticed him coming around and had put all his weight on his arm to hold it still.

"Easy," the medic warned. "Just cleaning it up a little. You got money for a doctor?"

Four had cleaned out his account for Matilda. He shook his head. There wasn't any anesthetic or pain killers, just a plentiful amount of onlookers and Rafael's insistence that he needed to breath.

He couldn't sleep, the throbbing too much. He paced back and forth with his hand held up above his heart feeling feverish, gagging at the smell of his own blood. The only thing he could think of was Janice, the Dauntless nurse, and how much he wished the Erudite doctors were a train away.

Erudite; Cara would know what to do, how to make it stop throbbing. Christina had included a telephone exchange on her last letter, buried in his ruck sack under his bunk. He danced side to side while he fed the machine on the corner from a sock full of coins. Shock waves radiated through his spine and down into his groin and thighs before coming back up to his extremities.

"Hello?" she answered, groggy. He felt bad for the time of morning.  
"Hey, it's Four. I'm trying to get a hold of Cara. Do you know if she has a telephone number?" He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even.  
"Four? Yeah, good to hear from you. How are you?"

"In a hurry, Christina." He bit his lip, reminding himself to be kinder if he wanted her to cooperate. "I need to talk to Cara."

"What happened?"

"Listen, do you have her number or not?" he snapped. He couldn't help but groan.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it, hold on." He could tell she was getting pissed with him. "325-69-2."

"Thanks, bye."

He fed the machine, stole some quick breaths and dialed before he could forget the digits.

"Hello?" She was oddly awake for what had become early morning.

"It's Four. I need your help, not much time. A guy lost a finger," he lied. "What do I do to keep it from bleeding out or getting infected?" He rushed it out, then stifled a groan as he shuffled. Rafael was watching a few feet away, taking the sock he clutched to his chest and holding it for him.

"Oh, a, hey Four, how'd he lose it?"

"Pinched it off in some equipment," he offered, hoping to move it along.

"Take him to a hospital," she dismissed.

"He doesn't have the money for it. Doctors cost a lot here."

"Um, I guess wash it with boiled water. Change the bandages regularly and get a hold of some antibiotics if it gets red or pussy," she offered. "If you can, get him to a doctor," she urged.

"Alright, there's no pain pills, what can I do?" He tried to sound like he wasn't begging.

"Keep it elevated and try some ice to numb it. That's about all there is without a pharmacy," she said curtly. "Which finger?"

"Small one." He groaned for a second as a sharp spark sprang up his forearm.

"Oh, jeeze Four. What were you doing?"

"Never mind," he groaned. "Thanks for your help."

"You're at high risk for a bone infection, keep an eye on it and keep it clean. If you can't get it fixed there, head to the Bureau. They'll treat anyone that comes in."

"Yeah, thanks for the help." He set the phone back on the receiver and paced around the building waiting for the pain to ease. Rafael walked with him, sharing in his distress until he couldn't stand his presence and sent him back to bed.

Steven and the other leaders assumed it was an attack due to the negotiations; another scare tactic. They got thoroughly upset when Four refused to come forward and file a report. But he didn't want to have to lie or be caught in a lie, and he felt like he sort of deserved it for killing the baby and for sleeping with a married woman. For running away from his problems in Chicago. For the body count that weighed on his dreams. Yeah, that seemed to demand at least a finger.

{}

He was wallowing, again, losing himself in the pain and telling himself he deserved it. He forced himself to visualize each reason – the baby, Matilda, Tris, Uriah, the Dauntless traitor at Amity, the glassy eyes of Rud. He'd passed on the bar, again, the impulse to suffer greater than the one to kill the pain.

A group of kids were running down the street ,shrieking, and calling to each other about a dare. It reminded him of Zeke and his friends. He didn't belong here anymore now than he did months earlier. His resolve to stay was starting to crack.

Rafael paused when he saw him outside the door. He watched Four alternate between tucking his hand up against his chest and holding it out in the cool breeze. The clear signs of infection had been wearing on his conscious all week.

"I'm not going to pretend to know you well, but you've been pretty quiet for the last few weeks, even before your hand. Are you okay?"

He nodded, because if he didn't then that would be defeat. But he couldn't control the expression on his normally stoic face.

"I'm thinking about going back, are you thinking about going back?" Rafael offered.

Four was overcome by the feeling of defeat. Like he wasn't strong enough, would never be strong enough to turn Milwaukee into a refuge. He logically knew that his finger was infecting his body, and without help, it could kill him. Irrationally, he considered if that was the conclusion he should embrace.

Suicide was selfish, cowardly; he wasn't brave enough to cross that line. But if sickness took him – he didn't finish the thought. Second only to his resignation was the sullen urge to be some place familiar, or specifically to be where he could pretend Milwaukee never happened.

"You know, that hand doesn't look too good. Didn't your friend say they'd treat you for free in the Bureau?"

"Yeah. Can't seem to get a hold of any antibiotics," he admitted, although he'd only tried once. He'd always had a difficult time admitting when he needed help. "Can't really go backwards to move forward, right?" Then he let his mind drift to another starting point, Indianapolis. Maybe he could start fresh, again, for real.

"What if going back is moving forward." Rafael smiled, pressing his tactic further "I think I'm going to go. I mean, the money's okay here and the food's not awful anymore, but there's something about it that doesn't feel right, like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. But I can't remember where I'm supposed to be. You ever feel like that?"

"No, I know where I should be. I just can't be there." He added _shouldn't_ in his mind.

"If I go back, would you want to, too?" he asked. "I mean, we started this together. And you'll lose your whole hand if that goes much longer."

"I'll think about it."

But the answer was yes. The hurt was begging for something familiar to sooth it, and he was done lying to himself about this being the new life he wanted.


	10. CH10: Perspective

**Beta-proofing by Milner.**

Amar pulled up in a blue truck with side panels that had rusted through- something he'd gotten from the outside for certain. The door popped open when she approached. "Are you ready?" Amar asked as Tris stepped up.

"Yeah. Thanks for taking me." She wasn't actually happy about it. The tension from their last exchange at the table was still sitting just below the surface. Regardless of the anxiety, she had few options on such short notice.

"I'm bringing back supplies anyways." He shrugged. "Makes for a less lonely drive." He put the truck in gear. Most of his focus went to navigating back to the main road from the Amity gate. "So, what's this surgery?" he asked, "If I can pry."

"Oh, um, the bullet that got left inside has moved. So it's getting close to my Aorta- the main artery from my heart. They said I needed to get it out now or it could keep moving and I would eventually rupture and bleed out." The trucks heater wasn't keeping up with the early morning chill, and she paused to shift her scarf tighter around her neck. "And if I don't die on the table, they'll work on my shoulder. Some muscles aren't attaching to the plates right. Erudite thought the Bureau had better equipment." He was struck a little by how flat her tone sounded, and wasn't sure if her surgery was risky or if she still didn't care if she died.

"Nothing's simple with you, is it?" He tried to cover his concern with a laugh.

"Nope. What supplies are you getting?" she asked out of politeness not interest.

"Clothes. Warm, thick clothes. And black dye. It's the only way I can convince them to button up." He shook his head. "Meatheads." Tris laughed. "I've been doing a lot of trips back and forth. Next week, I'll be back up with some supplies from Amity to the Bureau."

"Didn't know we had enough to share."

"Dead people don't eat," he reminded her. "And there are a lot of people leaving the city. More than coming in right now."

They passed out of the densely packed buildings quietly. Tris was prepared to let herself drift away for the entire drive, but Amar had her captive.

"So, what happened between you and Four?" Straight to the point. She cursed herself- she was right to think he agreed to easily to shuttling her.

"Nothing." She glared at him.

"Bullshit." He looked more at her than she thought he should, given the road conditions were worsening.

"I'll phrase it differently then. None of your damn business."

"Let me lay it out for you." He got stern. She rolled her eyes, preparing for what she assumed would be the same lecture as Christina's about love and responsibility and accepting what's given. But Amar knew better than to wear the role of the best friend. "Four has never felt good enough for anyone or anything. He's unstable, suspicious, violent. It took a lot to earn his trust and his respect, but I have never been able to make him feel like he was worth the attention. I went through a lot of shit trying to clean up his act and get him to calm down. Protect himself- fit in."

Tris swallowed and fought the urge to distract herself with the window crank. Tobias was many things: proud, confident, methodical, patient. He wasn't any of the things Amar described. At least not to her. The contradiction made her equally suspect Amar of lying, and of her relationship being based on a lie.

"Then you come along and in just a matter of weeks you flipped him upside down. You made him want to be more, want to be worth it."

She chewed her lip. "I didn't do anything."

"You split your hand and dropped your blood. That decision affects more than you," he pressed on a little kinder. "There's a lot you don't know about Four, but what you should know is that he's like a planet. He needs a sun to keep him from drifting off, and right now he's drifting, God knows where doing God knows what." He paused, "And for all I know, it's undoing all that work I put in. Most certainly all the influence you had." He paused again, like he thought better of continuing, but did. "Tobias means a lot to me, to a lot of people. So, humor me, what the hell did he do to piss you off?"

"He would have left eventually. It seemed easier to pick when." She avoided the subject and skipped straight to concession. "It's not my most defensible decision."

"What did you do?" he pried, getting exasperated. But she refused to say anything, choosing to stare out the window and wiggle her toes to keep them warm.

"Fucking Stiffs! You can't just go around assuming that you know best for everyone." He sounded exhausted, not angry. "A partnership takes two people, not one. You can't make unilateral decisions like that. Whatever the hell you did, it's up to him to tell you if it's bad enough. And it's unfair to keep him from being mad at you for the right reasons. You two are made for each other," he spit with a little disgust. "He's out there thinking he's got to punish himself so he can feel like he deserves to breathe, and you're doing the same damn thing. If you'd just take two seconds to be there for each other, life would be a lot easier."

He let the silence settle between them, feeling satisfied in his due diligence. Not just on behalf of his pupil and friend, but for himself as well. He also thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd helped her too.

By the time they were through the city gates, inching out into the space between, it was becoming a comfortable silence. For all the unsolicited advice, it was also obvious why Four had gravitated to him. He told it like he found it, without apology and no ulterior motive other than to make people better then when he found them. Tris also understood that the guilt she felt as a result could make her better.

"So, what do you think?" he finally asked, the miles running out. His practiced method of planting the seed and coming back later to cultivate was somewhat expedited by the limited commute; he doubted the efficiency.

She thought many things- mostly about how bad things went with Matthew and how avoidable it would have been if she'd just talked to Four. Everything Amar had said made her feel like a fool for not seeing it for herself; made her feel like a child making rash decisions and expecting to avoid the consequences.

"I know it was a mistake," she commented, "But there's nothing I can do. He's gone and there's a big part of me that thinks that's the best thing for him. I'm a mess."

"He's a mess."

"You've talked to him?"

"I know him," he corrected. "He's never far from being a mess."

"So, what was he like when he first transferred?" The masochistic side of her wanted to know the potential results of her mistake, to feel the weight of it.

"Typical for a sixteen-year-old kid in a lot of ways, but quicker to fight than anyone I'd ever met. I think I spent at least one day a week for months in Max's office trying to justify why they shouldn't throw him out."

Just in her short time in Dauntless, she knew fights were common and usually expected. She didn't realize too many would result in becoming factionless. "What would he fight about?"

"Pride, mostly. Always felt like he had something to prove. Never backed down, never walked away. It's why I got Zeke involved."

"I thought they were friends from initiation?"

"Four might say they were, but I think at the time there were only two types of people to him: enemies, and not-as-bad enemies." He shrugged. "Zeke's dad had just died and he was struggling himself, so I gave him Four as a special project. He spent a lot of time making Four fit in." He laughed. "Poor Zeke should get a medal. There were so many fights, and he just didn't come out on top very often. But he did break Four's ribs once. That was another pain in the ass conversation with Max." She found herself smiling, trying to imagine a more reckless version of the instructor she'd met.

"Those boys, they got in a lot of trouble. They had a curfew, laundry shifts, kitchen duty, pit cleaning. Eventually, I stopped getting called into Max's office about his violent behavior and just about his potential." He sighed. "He calmed down a lot when Ryana got killed. You know, for being divergent."

"What else?" Hearing how little she knew made it feel like one of her history sessions, and Amar was just another subject with a loved one to remember.

Amar chuckled. "He was a skinny little shit." She laughed unbelieving. "From the time he got there to just around the time I left he grew close to six inches and got strong. He couldn't have been much more than a buck-thirty soaking wet when he transferred. But he was scrappy and determined, and he could take a hit. He won mostly because of being fast and smart. And a few times just because he could outlast them."

"I can't imagine him as small," she commented.

"Yeah, late bloomer. I guess, you two didn't really get to know each other well," he commented. "Can't imagine you had time."

"No, we didn't."

"Well, maybe you can fix that when he comes back."

"He's not coming back." Amar sighed, convinced otherwise.

"What if he did?"

"He wouldn't give me two thoughts," she snorted.

"Don't be dense."

"He wouldn't." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm weak. I can't function without pills six times a day. And I can't even be trusted to live on my own," she added softly. "That's not who he loved."

"Bullshit, stiff," he spat. "Stop making other people's decisions. If that man comes back and finds you, you tell him the truth. Whatever it was that made you do what you did, you tell him. And whatever you feel, you tell him that too. Let him make up his own damn mind. You'll make up yours, and then let the cards fall where they may."

They were in view of the facility.

"Thanks Amar," she whispered. "I don't know why I didn't just hire you as my therapist." She laughed.

"Just don't fuck it up." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "If there's a second chance, make it count."

{}

Christina was waiting for her just inside the door, pacing. She'd probably been there most of the day. Amar let her out with a quick 'Good luck', and she was immediately covered in her friends open arms. She realized Christina hadn't even bothered with a coat she was so excited to see her.

"Oh my God! It's been months!" Christina shouted and looked at her. "Your hair is so long. And look at your coat, that's cute." She smiled. "Still avoiding the eyeliner, but that's okay." She pulled her inside. "I'm so glad you're here, I'm surrounded by boys!"

"I've missed you too." Tris followed, their arms locked. "I didn't realize you would ever get tired of the boys."

"There's only so many worth talking to," she pointed out. "Come on, I have everything ready in my apartment for you."

"I think they're probably going to keep me in the hospital, you know for a while."

"Yeah, but your surgery is tomorrow, and then maybe you'll stay a few days before you go back?" she asked.

"Yeah, maybe." She shrugged. "It's not like we haven't taken care of most of the supply requests already."

"Matthew's excited to see you." Christina smiled genuinely.

"I don't want to see him," Tris replied flatly.

"See, girl talk. It's necessary." She unlocked her door and let her friend step in. "So what happened with Matthew? He came back saying you two had a great time and that everything was awesome. He really enjoyed the city."

"I'm sure that's exactly what he thinks." Tris set her stuff by the couch and Christina started to make tea. "It was awful, just a mistake." She shook her head.

"What about it was so bad?" Tris shook her head again, looking at her hands. Christina's brow furrowed. "So, tell me about it. It'll make you feel better." Tris turned bright red, and that was all Christina needed to sit next to her and put her arm around her. "So you slept together."

"That's all he wanted. Just sex." She folded her arms and looked at the table, wanting to disappear. Even though Christina was her closest confidant, there were limits to her comfort in any relationship.

"Was it your first time?" Christina asked carefully, knowing the alternative might be touchy.

"It'll be the last." It was a typical non-answer when she crossed the subject.

"Don't say that," she moaned. "Sex is amazing. It just takes some time to get good at it. And having the right partner is really important."

"Yeah, apparently." She chewed her lip.

"So, what made it so bad?"

"Oh, I'm not going to..." Tris refused, unsure.

"He's tiny right? I mean, I always thought, 'that guy has a tiny dick.'" She tried to cheer her up and loosen her lips. She did laugh.

"I don't really have comparisons," she blushed. "He's definitely not..._in shape,_" she bashfully admitted.

"Oh, yeah? Weak and pasty?"

"Yeah," she confirmed with a chuckle.

"The worst! Live and learn." Christina always could say something to cheer her up.

"But, I mean, bad sex isn't a reason for walking away from a good guy. Maybe you just need to tell him that you want to do more than rumple the sheets." She half smiled, but when Tris's smile faded, she knew she'd missed the mark. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No, not really," she murmured. "I just. I wasn't prepared for it. It wasn't what I wanted. I thought he liked me for me."

She let the words carry out her anxieties, finding it easier to be vulnerable the more she said, but she couldn't bring herself to talk about the worst of it, the part that revived her fear. "Afterwards, he was just disappointed."

"In what?

"Me. My body." Christina looked at her like she was insane.

"My scars are pretty, extreme." She provided an excuse for him while pulling her sweater neck up and wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

"That rat bastard," Christina exclaimed. "He'd have to use a microscope to see them! You give him access, he's supposed to worship you until you dismiss him. That's the cardinal rule all men must follow," she declared while she pulled Tris into a hug.

"Forget that asshole. He's not worth the time." Christina held her like she would hold her sister, and took on the anger that Tris couldn't muster on her own.

"So, anyone new?" Tris tried to move the topic, wiped her eyes and peeled back away from the warm arms.

"A few, just-for-funs. But nothing serious," she sighed. "It's been busy, not a lot of time to date." Then she smiled. "I missed my opportunity. If I'd been paying attention, I would have made me a custom boyfriend right after the memory serum. But I was a little late and they all got conditioned without me in mind."

"That's awful," Tris chastised with a laugh. "I can't imagine you would have chosen just one. Oh! The drones lined up to service their queen. It would have been a new autocracy."

"You'd think we'd at least give them directions to pleasing a woman." She shook her head, serious faced yet laughing underneath.

"So, I heard Four's doing okay in Milwaukee," Christina said hopefully. In his letter not too far back, he asked about jobs in Chicago. She felt obligated to do some fishing on his behalf.

"Where'd you hear that?" Christina turned away to guard her tells.

"He was in the paper. Some story about all these workers stopping work until they get better conditions." She turned back and watched Tris carefully, recognizing remorse, regret. "What if he came back?"

"Have you and Amar been drinking the same Gin?" she shot back, overly forceful. "He's not coming back." She pulled out her favorite distraction- her research.

"Whoa. I take it he had some sage advice?"

"He's not coming back," Tris said again, starting to spread the sheets of paper out across the table. Christina thought better of pursuing further, although it didn't mean she wouldn't try after Tris was drugged up on pain killers.

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	11. CH11: Back to the Bureau

**Beta-proofing provided by Milner.**

The bus ride to the Bureau seemed longer than the trip to Milwaukee, even though it was nearly six hours shorter since the roads were improved out a hundred miles over the winter by their own hands. They flew down the path until they met the crew, many waving as they rocked back and forth past. Keeping with his nature, Rafael continued to jabber about the things he was looking forward to. Almost all of it was exclusively food related: Cake, jam on toast, apples.

Four interjected the obvious- a hot shower, the tepid water of the camps long unwelcome. He wanted the soft cotton of a new shirt, jeans without holes in the patches of his knees, the silence of his own room.

All of Rafael's reminiscing about the dishes and objects he recalled as being essential to the experiences that were beyond his reach made Four regret wiping his memories. At the same time, the rhythm to his excitement made it easy to let the jabbering fade into the background while he selfishly ran through his own list. Each mile passed adding an ounce of nervous anxiety into his already uncomfortable body. Sleep was impossible when each session resulted in a memory overload.

They unloaded in front of the Bureau doors like scared cattle coming into the feed lot- one at a time to be processed by a guard at the front. The facility was teeming with bodies, organized according to the check boxes on the incoming inspection, a total contrast from the fractured silence just after the wipe. Four eyed his paper: his short name, place and approximate date of birth, anticipated end location- undecided. It had taken him a second to process the question leading to the handwritten statement by other. He sighed in relief when his line shuffled through the doors and he got to stand for nearly a minute beneath the hot stream of air just at the threshold.

Nose down, eyes on a chart, Christina breezed past by chance. Four didn't even process how quickly or naturally he called her name, pulling her attention before grabbing her arm and wrapping her up in a hug so tight that it surprised even him. It felt like pressing a piece of home into a void in a puzzle.

Unfortunately, it was before she could recognize him and even if she had, she'd second guessed. He received a swift knock to his side, accompanied by a jab he blocked with his arm. "Christina, it's me, Four," he coughed, protecting his bandaged hand.

"Four!" she exclaimed, gripping him as he doubled over. "You scared the crap out of me. I didn't recognize you. You look even worse in person. You didn't say you were coming," she bubbled enthusiastically, eyeing him over. "Jesus, you look fringe," she commented, putting a fingertip through a hole in his jacket and considering the patches in his jeans.

"Good to see you, too," he laughed, giving a controlled squeeze to her shoulder and recovering some composure over his impulses. Her hands went directly to the long beard and pulled. "Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes at her and she ruffled his hair that was splayed out in wisps down to his shoulders.

"I've seen fringe people that look better than you. I thought you said they had indoor plumbing at this camp." She put the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up." Then she noticed the bandage on his hand, protectively positioned behind his hip. "What did you do?" she asked.

"Just another reason to call me Four." He tried the joke for the first time, holding up his hand with a bit of a blush. He knew there would be attention, and that made his skin crawl, but with her it was a little easier than he expected. It felt good to see someone familiar smiling back at him, even if it was full of concern. "This place is more...alive then the last time I was here," he deflected.

"What did you do?" She didn't take the bait, grabbing his hand so she could look closer. "Oh my God! Where is your finger?"

"Up your ass if you don't stop squeezing," he warned, pulling his hand back. "Just an accident." Rafael cast him a questioning glance as he joined him.

"This is Rafael," he introduced. "Christina."

"Why hello." Rafael wiggled his eyebrows a little. "Very nice to meet you."

"This guy found a barber," she deadpanned, comparing the two.

"Yeah, yeah, he had lice," Four teased. Rafael subtly rolled his eyes. "So this place is busier than the ghost town I left."

"Yeah, there's a lot of back and forth right now. People going in to settle, people coming out to explore. It's been crazy to see all the travelers hubbing around." She took up his small ruck sack. "Come on, you need to get through the doctors before we let you into the general population." She snatched his paper, looking through the check list. "I'll have to have a word with the inspectors, fevers are supposed to get diverted." She recorded the name at the bottom.

"I couldn't get treatment out in Milwaukee, it's why I'm here." He felt like he had to explain, given her curious glances over her shoulder while she lead him through the hallways.

"When did it happen?" It didn't take a Candor to note the agitation in her tone.

"Two weeks ago." He instantly regretted saying it.

"And you didn't write, you didn't call?" She punched him roughly and squarely in his chest, then stiffened. This boisterousness hadn't been part of their relationship and she obviously thought she crossed a line. But he just laughed when she rationalized, "Or I guess you couldn't write?"

"I didn't think it mattered. I mean, I lost a finger. That's why you get ten," he suggested, but she stayed stern. Then she remembered.

"When you wanted Cara's number? Was that what that was?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I needed some advice. Not that it saved me this trip."

"Thought that was a dream," she mused.

"A frantic man calls you in the middle of the night and you think it's a dream?" he teased, testing the waters just a little.

"They usually knock on the door," she sassed back.

"Hey, guys?" Rafael interrupted, watching a group of girls walking the other way, "As much as I'd like to make sure that finger gets professionally cleaned up, I think you've got this handled. So I'll catch up with you later." Four nodded as he departed like he was let loose on the hunt.

"So, Rafael? What's his story?" Four wondered if she didn't notice why he left in a hurry, then figured that she might not care.

"If you can find some records, I think he'd appreciate it." He paused, weighing the line between precaution and his assured embarrassment before continuing. "And if you do, um... use protection. Lice might not be the only thing he caught," he warned, turning a little pink.

"I'll keep that in mind." He could have sworn she also blushed a little, turning around to watch him down the hall. "But he's a good guy?"

"Yeah, seems to be. Works hard, doesn't complain, likes to be around people." He smiled. "He's been a good friend." Then he smirked, seeing the smile on her face while she watched Rafael disappear around a corner. "You break his heart, I'll break your legs," he teased.

"Oh, that's how it is? You've known him a hot minute and you're on his team?" She laughed back. It felt good to trade jokes and be light. "So, you here to stay or what?"

"I think Chicago- that was the plan. I guess I haven't really decided yet," he admitted. "It's different up there. But it's different here too, right?"

"Yeah, tons different. I mean I only get second hand from Amar about Chicago, but it seems they're making a lot of changes very quickly."

"Amar is really back in Chicago, like for good?"

"Seriously. You realize being friends with people requires effort right?" He shrugged, so she continued. "He and George went back to Dauntless around the time Tris and Caleb left." He winced when she said her name, just enough for a Candor to see.

"Still? It's been months." He rolled his eyes and changed the topic.

"What are my options if I stay here or if I go to Chicago?"

"Well, there's a lot of stuff here. Mainly for working with Chicago and the leadership there to frame the future, set it all up. Obviously you could work in security or something. Amar said you were good with computers, equipment?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we could use your help around here. Most of the techies have gone into the labs in Chicago or didn't retain it after the wipe. Not many people are left that can run a facility. I mean, that's what you use to do, the control room, right?"

"Yeah. I mean the Dauntless control room was all second hand from Erudite. Probably decades behind what they have here. What about Chicago?"

"Would you go back to Dauntless?" He considered this for a second.

"I don't know. I never really belonged there."

"Bullshit," she corrected. "Four fears? Amar says you're the best fighter he's ever seen. Best shot, best trainer."

"Yeah, but I'm not that kid he knew anymore." He held up his hand. "Damaged goods now." He meant it in more ways than one.

"You could go to the former-factionless- that's what the factionless are calling themselves now."

"I could just go factionless, like I planned," he contemplated. "Not much for large groups."

"Friends take effort," she reminded. "Obviously more effort than you want to put in. It might be easier if you actually _lived_ near a few of them."

"Yeah." He furrowed his brow together, then decided to say what was on his mind.

"Where is everyone? Like where did Zeke and Shauna go?"

"Dauntless."

"Tris?" he asked cautiously.

"She's living with Caleb in a building near Erudite," she said softly, watching him closely. "She works for the government. I don't think that necessarily excludes her from any faction, but she isn't really in one either."

They were at the opening to the hospital, people in coats are milling around and travelers waiting just inside. She peeled off to the side so they could finish their conversation, her clipboard tucked under an arm.

"So how'd it really happen?"

"An accident," he stated again, trying to hold his face as still as possible. "That's all."

"Mmm-hmm." She didn't look convinced. It was her turn to look hesitant and pause, making a decision whether to share.

"Tris is here, too, right now. Pretty sure you didn't want an awkward, accidental encounter." He wasn't ready for that. He was content to think he could avoid her forever. "She had another surgery, last week. She's going back on Friday, but I'd avoid the Library if you want to avoid her," she warned.

"She's still hurt?" he asked, that sense of concern replacing his pretend indifference.

"There's been quite a few surgeries. They have to pace them out. You know, reconstruction and stuff. Can't fix Rome in a day! At least that's what she says. Read it in some book. She just had a bullet fragment removed and they rebuilt her shoulder." She stuttered the start before finally asking, "Do you want to talk to her?"

"Does she ever mention me?" Her silence was the no he was dreading. Christina's face changed when she realized he was not remotely alright with the situation.

"I don't know exactly what happened between you, but it's not just you. She's not who she used to be."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with her?" he muttered, folding his arms and feeling defensive. Full of resentment too, but also a little satisfied.

"The same thing that's wrong with all of us. Too many memories." She cast her eyes down. "She's been pretty depressed. It's like all the fight's been beat out of her. But she seems better this time. Not like the last surgery, but she's still very quiet, not handling the trauma well." Then she paused. "I mean, that's really why you're coming back, right? To check in on her?"

"Yeah, I cut off my finger so I'd have a good excuse," he stated dryly. "Honestly, I couldn't steal antibiotics in Milwaukee." She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, that's all."

"Are you going to at least try to talk?"

"Wasn't planning on it." The idea brought up the familiar irritation of the last few months. "Do you think I should even bother?"

"Holding it in never helped anyone." She didn't even try to suppress the wisdom of her old faction.

"I'm not holding anything in," he lied, feeling more annoyed with each breath. "You can tell her I'm back. You know, that I'm not trying to get in her way."

"Don't think like that."

"She made her choice. I have to respect that."

"It's the wrong choice," Christina muttered.

"Life's full of wrong choices, but what's done is done." He had started using that statement to cope.

"She's usually in the library, reading all afternoon. If I were you, I'd try to talk there. I don't think she'd like getting too upset in public. I'd also clean up. You're unrecognizable." She turned to walk away.

"I'm not going talk to her," he called after her with a huff, feeling embarrassed when he realized how infantile he sounded. She looked like she would let it drop for a second as she walked further away, but then she paused and turned back.

"Four, she made that choice when she was the weakest I'd ever seen her, the most messed up. She might be ready to make a different one now, okay?" He just pursed his lips, not sure how to respond. "I have to get back to work. I'll find you later."

He walked into the clinic, ready to get the throbbing pain out of his body. The immediate assessment put him in a bed with an IV drip of antibiotics. A surgeon was called to see if anything further should be done to address the amputation.

Before the consult could come, his secondary reaction to the medication raised his fever and swelled his arm from the IV to his hand. An older man with a graying beard looked at the him, wide-eyed and fatigued.

"You fringe folk are just a mess," he muttered. "If it's not syphilis it's mange. Not mange it's mangled limbs." Four was writhing in discomfort as the skilled but inconsiderate hands squeezed and moved his metacarpals. "I need x-rays and switch the IV to Keflex; get a resident in here to drain it. If the infection doesn't kill him by tomorrow and his fever comes down below a hundred, I'll operate at three."

Four questioned, "Is that a joke?" He wasn't certain if it was dry humor.

"You have blood poisoning and an infection in your bone. The idea that you're alive right now is pretty surreal." He patted him on the shoulder. "Hope you make it," he said, and left.

Outside of the pulsing pain that was running up his arm -which was greatly diminishing from the pain medication- he felt fine. He had to admit that he'd had a headache and muscle aches for the last four days, but that wasn't unusual given his meager rations and hard labor. And the fever that set in the day of and never broke, maybe that should have been a sign. But he couldn't accept it. He felt fine.

A pimple-faced girl with beady eyes hidden behind thick glasses and thin fingers cut into the side of his hand releasing a stream of putrid puss. The release of pressure was the nearest to ecstasy he could imagine in a hospital bed. He sighed in relief at the release of pressure. She gagged at the smell and he felt equally repulsed. His head took off down the swoosh of pain medication, leaving his body behind for sleep to take over.

{}

He was barely awake and simply enjoying the numbness in his hand. It was the first relief he'd felt in the two weeks since he'd been attacked. He let his eyes alternate between open and closed, and he was about to let them shut for another nap when Amar tapped lightly on the door. Three other patients shared his room- two were sleeping and the third stared off out the window. It felt a hundred more times private than the work camp.

"You thin-fuck of a stiff," he greeted with a broad smile. "Hear I should call you stumpy."

"Asshole. Thought you were in Chicago." He pushed himself up in bed.

"I'm up getting some equipment and caught Christina in the hallway. You look like hell." He folded his arms in front of him. "I've seen people fatter in the fringe."

"Milwaukee's not the easiest of places."

"Or maybe you just don't know how to take it easy?" he asked. Always making him question himself, always asking for him to think. At that moment there wasn't a more annoying trait.

"What do you want?" He couldn't stop himself to make it sound nicer than he felt.

"Came to see what kept you from dinner. Find out you have blood poisoning." He picked up his chart. "And lice," he adds.

"I don't have lice." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think the nurse knows what lice looks like." Amar smiled. "How have you been?"

"You know, a little warning next time you're going to wipe my friends, okay?" It was his turn to look annoyed. "I spent the first six weeks cleaning up after your mess. Trying to get everyone back to work and back to being productive." He sighed. "There were no less than four riots in the fringe and two attacks on the compound."

"Sorry, but you would have stopped us."

"Damn right," he spat. Then his face softened. "I was skeptical about the results, but I'll admit, things overall seem to be going okay."

"How's George?"

"On the fence. I'm wondering if you'll take the couch in our apartment. Hate to see a friend out in cot-city."

"I've got a friend with me, met on the way up to Milwaukee. We're kind of in this together. "

Amar raised his eyebrow. "What's her name?"

"Rafael, and no, we're not together. Not like that," he corrected quickly. "He was wiped."

"Meet any nice girls up there?" Amar took a seat in the visitor's chair and put his feet up on the bed.

"Nothing worth talking about," he said quietly.

"Still ending dates with getting slapped, eh?" He didn't answer. "Alright, what's the game plan with Tris?"

"Steer clear of her," he huffed. "I've had enough of women for a while."

"She's not the same-"

"Yeah, yeah, poor Tris," he placated, the medication removing any notion of filtering. "Full of demons. Join the fucking club."

"She's not the same as when you left," he corrected. "I don't think she's proud of what she did to you."

Four closed his eyes.

"Chicago's getting bigger every day, but it might not be big enough to avoid her forever." Amar sighed and stood. "You coming back to Dauntless? We'll make you dinner and you can stay with us. Might even have room for your friend."

"Yeah, if you can take both of us. I'm assuming my apartment's gone?"

"May not be, haven't checked. Not everyone came back, you know, but it was a pretty sweet apartment," he suggested sarcastically.

Four settled in for another stint of drug-induced sleep that fluttered just on the line of consciousness. The bed felt strange, soft throughout without the poke of springs. The room was foreign, too warm and dry. It smelled of cleaning sprays, not mildew, and the sound of three people sleeping was unsettling compared to dozens. He was mostly awake when they came to deliver him to the surgeon for a formal amputation of his complete digit.

The lights in the hospital never quite shut off, but between the doses and the rude disruptions from the nurses, he was not present enough in the world to notice how many days passed.

There was a haziness to his concept of dreams as they blended into nightmares and melded into reality without interruption. This made him unbelieving when the reflection of the bulb looked like moonlight in her blue irises. Eyes that took him back to a different night that was slightly windy and exciting; she didn't seem real then or now. But unlike then, she lacked the self-assured look of determination. She didn't look powerful or strong. She was slight and hesitant. Her arm in a sling and her other hand in her pocket.

"Tobias." She smiled meekly. When his first thought was to touch her, his months of inner monologue crushed him. He knew that she didn't want him; he knew that he meant nothing. He also knew this was a lie- another lie coming from a liar. Least of all was the bile that crept up his throat along with the anger for the throbbing pulse in his hand that would not exist if it weren't for her.

"Leave," he whispered through his clenched jaws. "Get out!" he half shouted, quickly. She stepped back like she'd received a punch to the stomach, propelling her out the door.

It took him hours and a quick but thorough lecture from the morning nurse addressing his behavior as 'pissy' to finally let the tension seep out out so the anger could subside.

"Hey charming," Christina smiled. "Heard you're developing a loyal following among the care-staff here." He felt ashamed for his behavior. "Seems they support an early release, begged the doctor and everything. I hear they even made him cookies." Now he felt guilty.

She wrestled a stack of clothes from his ruck sack, ignoring his groans at the lack of respect for his privacy. "You need soap to make it clean," she muttered, glancing at him while stacking each item on the edge of his bed. She leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed. He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to leave.

"Oh no, I want the show," she insisted. "Strip, instructor, strip!" He couldn't help but chuckle. She turned her back and whistled a song he didn't recognize while he carefully dressed with the gown on until he needed to replace it with a shirt, in case she did peek.

The beady eyed resident gave him his wound care instructions with fresh supplies and antibiotics. Christina carried his bag for him down to the breakfast line. The smell of warm, cooked food was intense. He'd never wanted it more; he could have started a riot if he was denied. He filled his plate with sausage and eggs, proteins he hadn't seen in months.

"So, what's the damage?" she asked, as they sat down. "You're like half the man you use to be."

"It's not that bad." He didn't want to be the object of attention anymore, but he had some questions to get out of the way.

"Tell me about the job front. How do I get situated when I get back into the city?"

"Still going in? I'd hoped I had convinced you to stay out here."

"I mean, I'll check on what Rafael wants to do, but we planned on going in," he explained. "You know, build it up."

"I hope you don't mind, but I was told if you ever came back to make a couple of phone calls." He started to get worried. "Johanna wants you to consider coming to work with her. She's one of the leaders of the city now."

"Yeah, who else is?" He wholly expected her to say his mother's name, but she didn't.

"Amita, Candor and Therese, you know, factionless." She quickly continued, "They actually seem to balance things out."

"And my mother?"

"Left, still gone. Haven't heard form her. Not that she'd contact me." She cleared her throat. "There's an office that collects mail and stuff for people that can't be found. You should check. Could be she sent you a letter and they couldn't get it to you in Milwaukee."

"Yeah, I'll have to do that." He would like to know she was alive, reachable. Maybe he'd check before he left.

"Hey, you should come by later on. I know you're all wounded and stuff, but do you think you can help me move a refrigerator? It's just a little more than I can manage."

"I can try." He nodded, finishing his food and finding his way to the blue room to catch up with Rafael and claim a cot.


	12. CH12: Confrontation

**Many thanks to Milner for her beta-proofing, and to BAMCN24 for not only introducing us, but for spreading the word about this fic. **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. And thanks for your support.**

The Blue Room was a giant hall with blue doors and a lot of chatter. In the mid-morning flurry, there seemed to be more bodies than beds. People were corralled between shoulder-high partitions set up for privacy. Each block of four beds had a number indicating an assigned location. Candor families seemed to make up the majority, the rest a blend of blue and red.

He pushed deeper, finding his place among four cots in a corner partition. He looked at the other three occupied beds and hoped he could delay meeting his temporary companions- the possibility of being recognized or knowing them pulling a fresh thread of anxiety through his lungs, one that he didn't fully understand.

He had to side step little girls being pursued by their fathers as he entered the men's room, causing him to double check the stick figure on the door. The man in the mirror staring back at him was wind burned and shaggy. He carried months of neglect written in the sharp depressions between his bones.

He found a set of communally abused clippers with two nearly identical guards. He wasn't ready to remove who he was in Milwaukee -not ready to become the old Four or Tobias again- and even less certain if either existed under the layers. Reluctantly, he trimmed just the edges of his beard only to clean up, to look like he tried.

Four stripped off his clothes, setting them in a neat pile on a bench by the wall. He didn't bother to cover his tattoo. He didn't mind that others would glance and assume him to be Dauntless, just merely wrapped a towel around his waist. He tried to tie the plastic together one handedly to protect the bandage, nearly kicking the locker in frustration.

An Amity man stepped up, cautious and offered to help with a murmur of "One refugee to another." The relief of removing months of cold and grime under the hot flow was more symbolic, given the thorough cleaning he'd received prior to surgery. The five minutes of spray could well have been an hour for how fresh it made him feel.

Four came out feeling relaxed and sleepy, the pills removing the harsh irritation he felt from the IV drugs. Then he was short tempered and caustic- now he just wanted to roll over and sleep. He wanted to postpone seeing, or avoid Tris all together. Maybe sleep for days until he could catch a bus out. But he was trained to face his fears, not run from them. He decided to pull it off like a band-aid - all at once, hoping it would sting less.

He asked for directions three times as he made his way to the Library. It reminded him of Erudite, the rows of floor to ceiling shelving of books and the musty smell of humidity affecting paper. Of course she would be here, filling her head with stories and ideas, feeding one aptitude when she couldn't meet the expectations of another. He'd never had much interest in books outside of manuals for equipment, and he could feel the annoyance from school creep up into him as he passed people studying.

She sat in an oversized chair by the giant window. Beyond her was an empty, white plain that melded into the gray of the sky. The light reflected off her hair, dangling down to her shoulders and held behind her ears by a clip. She was wearing a black sweater with a collar that rolled over itself acting like a pillow for her chin.

She gently tapped her nose with her finger as she read the book that rested on her lap. He watched her eyes jitter side to side and down, absorbed in the story. He let his heart break, crack, and radiate a pain across him while he counted each step between them to keep from thinking about how repulsive he'd felt each time he'd entered her room; he had to keep control.

He didn't know where to stand, so he settled for standing at the corner of the chair and clearing his throat because sound wouldn't come out otherwise. He braced himself for the look of evasion he'd memorized so many months ago.

"Yes?" she asked looking up, looking confused and annoyed, then questioning like she couldn't quite place his face. He assumed the narrow tattoos exposed by the loose, worn collar of his shirt gave him away, but in reality it was his eyes; soft, hesitant, thoughtfully patient.

"Hi, Tris." He smiled weakly, willing the emotions to stay in his chest but wanting to breath freely at the same time. He wasn't a big enough man to be able to do both.

"Tobias." She said his name with her breath and he couldn't help but smile a sideways grin. She shirked back a little, confirming that his outburst in his hospital room wasn't a dream; that he'd been the monster in real life.

"Tris," he said again hinting at the apology he couldn't get out.

"Tobias, what are you doing here?" Her face stayed quizzical and her voice cold and factual, not inviting like he'd hoped. The extra anxiety pill she'd taken to deal with a predictably unpleasant interaction with Matthew blocked her from feeling much more than curiosity.

He nodded, letting his disappointment spread across his face. A hundred rehearsals of exactly what he would say if he saw her again didn't help him get any of it out. He couldn't help the shortness in his voice.

"I'm on my way back into Chicago. It's a big city, so I'm sure I can stay out of your way," he couldn't help but add. "I just wanted you to know that I would be there, you know, so you could..." He didn't know what he thought she'd do differently: maybe avoid him, tell him off one last time, not freak out if they passed each other on the street.

"You're coming back?" She stated it only slightly like a question and with the faintest smile on her lips, which didn't match with her previous tone. But he was already looking behind him for the quickest retreat to register the switch.

A pulse in his hand reminded him to keep it elevated and gave him the distraction he needed to reply. His voice was unsteady. "I am, but, like I said, it's a big city. I'll stay away, I promise. I just thought you should know." He turned to leave, not wanting to hear her response.

"Wait," she called after him, an urgent flutter breaking through the chemicals. "Tobias, wait." He froze in his exit and took a breath, not turning. "Will you stay and talk?" she offered, pointing at the companion chair right next to her, the only option near by.

He did as she asked automatically, like taking orders. Maybe because he thought it was the right thing to do. He tucked his right hand up against his chest and held his elbow with the other, squeezing himself tight and hunched over a little. It felt better to be as small as possible, arguably presenting less of a target.

"Where have you been? How have you been?" she asked, pointing at his hand.

His obvious discomfort caught her off guard. He looked fragile. Sitting the way he was exaggerated his thin body and made his collarbone pop out in a way she'd only seen on the old and sick. His knobby knee bounced nervously and his face was set like he was prepared for a blow. She'd only ever seen him shrink away from Marcus like this; this was fear. He was afraid of her, or what she would say. Guilt would have racked her gut if the chemistry in her brain wasn't heavily altered.

"Milwaukee. Didn't Christina tell you?" he said plainly. He thought he could stick to the facts.

"You and Christina have kept up?" Her face fell and she looked disappointed, felt betrayed by Christina's omissions.

"Yeah, just letters." He didn't know why he felt like he had to clarify, but it slipped out his lips quickly. "She was just keeping tabs on me, nothing else."

"Things went pretty wrong." Her admission shocked his body into looking her square in the eyes. "With you and me." He held his breath, not certain he wanted to risk her explanation matching his own. But it didn't matter, she lost her nerve.

"Is it nice there? In Milwaukee." She wanted to somehow make this easier, to make it okay. She wanted to just hear his voice in it's normal tone. He let his face droop away from her's, resigning to the ambiguity.

"It's okay."

He started to feel the creep of the monster inside of him- the side that could lash out, could hurt her, even kill her. His months of waiting spurred the questions that she could so easily answer up to his lips; but if he said it out loud, he didn't know if he could hold in the rage that was building.

"And your hand?" she asked.

"Listen, Tris," he snapped. Even though he wanted her to feel regret and remorse and punished for everything that she started, he needed to stop this, get away from her before she made him do something else he regretted. "What's done is done. I'm not here to play twenty questions or beg you back or somehow be friends. I just needed you to know: we have to share a city. That's all."

He stood up abruptly, retracing the path around the chairs and tables, through the bookshelves and out the doors, ignoring the curious eyes that followed him out.

{}

Christina was in the hall again just outside of processing, leaning against the wall examining a clip board. She looked up to watch Four cross, obviously agitated and upset, trudging from the direction of the library. She pursued, at a distance, until he curved into a quiet hallway and she found him squatted down head in his hands.

"That good?" she asked, sitting next to him so that her shoulder touched his. He leaned into the wall and let his knees come up to his chest so he could bury his face between them. Her warmth felt odd but also nice, like a heater.

Christina closed her mouth and waited while he got his thoughts under control. When he finally lifted his head to take a deep breath, he let his legs relax so they were stretched out in front of him.

"What did she say?" Christina asked quietly.

He tried to think of the most honest answer that would pass her scrutiny, but there wasn't really anything wrong with what Tris said. He was the one with the problem. "I shouldn't have come back." And then he added, "Maybe I should go to Indianapolis instead."

"She'll get over it, or she won't, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be here." Christina was surprisingly mad, catching him off guard. "I'm getting a little tired of everyone treading on eggshells," she declared, pushing herself up. "I'll talk to her."  
"Don't bother," he sighed, but she was already on her feet and walking away. He didn't even care enough to go after her.

{}

He might have slept an hour or so, propped up in the hallway with the light traffic stopping to stare or ask if he was okay. He didn't have anywhere to be, didn't care enough to go find someplace more comfortable. Being alone in the hallways was a better alternative than being in the clatter of the blue room. Rafael tapped his foot, rousing him for dinner.

"So, your friend, Christina," he started, watching Four devour his chicken greedily.

"Rafael, I know you're my friend too, but if you hurt her, I will break your legs." He didn't feel much like messing around on the topic. Unlike the joke with Christina, this threat was serious. There wasn't any reason to sugar coat it. "She's had a tough go with men, so if you're just looking to play make sure that's all she wants too."

"Oh, umm, okay." He got quiet, obviously reflecting on the damage he knew Four was capable of inflicting. "So," he said, trying to change the topic, "What's the plan?"

"Bus leaves in three days for Chicago. I had a place in my old faction. It might still be available, or we can stay with my friend, Amar. I'll help you find work, figure out what you want to do. Figure out what I want to do."

"Yeah, sounds like there's some test I can take, tells me where I belong."

"That's one option." He took the bottle of pain medication out of his pocket, his stomach full enough. "There's also a group called the factionless. It's people that don't fit in factions."

"Like Milwaukee?" Rafael wrinkled his nose.

"It's not as bad and it's getting better much faster in Chicago," he assured, "Besides, winter is hard, spring and summer won't freeze you to death."

Four wasn't certain why he was so exhausted, but he suspected a side effect of the pills. It wasn't like he'd done anything all day. Even with the sun hanging well above the horizon, he didn't care to delay sleep until dark. Rafael was already off with a group of people, finding something to do with his time, so he went back to the blue room by himself. He kicked his shoes off and thought about popping another pain pill, but decided on moderation. Instead he leaned back and rolled onto his stomach, clutching the thin pillow over his face to try to let the hum of the crowd lull him to sleep.

"Hey, Four." Christina nudged him, and he groaned as he rolled over, just barely under the heavy wing of sleep. "Need your help with something heavy in my apartment, remember?"

"Really?" he sighed and sat up, barely coordinated enough to pull his boots back on.

"Yeah, just need to pull the refrigerator out to fix the compressor. But I can't seem to get it to budge." She led the way back to her apartment, slightly in front of him. "Couldn't find Amar before he left, then I thought, awesome, Four is here." She smiled. "I'll even let you have a warm beer for your trouble."

"I'm supposed to pass on the alcohol. I'll just take your couch, if that's okay." He followed her into a housing unit. The hallways all looked the same to him, door after door after door leading into apartments he imagined were identical. She pushed her door open and he figured they must not need locks in such a safe facility.

She ushered him inside quickly obstructing his exit. Amar was serving a cup of tea to Tris at the small kitchen table. "Oh good, you _can_ lie." He smiled at Christina who rolled her eyes while assuming a ready stance in case Four bolted.

"She's not the only one." Four was immediately on the fast track to blowing up; this was a trap orchestrated before he even got out of the hospital.

"What's this?" Tris asked, pushing herself away from the table, concerned.

"This," Amar grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him forward, "Is a man that's torn up to high-heaven over you." Four glared at him, the approach too stark. "Look at him. He's a mess," he emphasized with a tug on his hair. "And you owe him an explanation. Whatever the hell it is that says you can't be with him, whatever reason you have -no matter how stupid or how rational or how inexplicable- you have to tell him." He reminded her of the drive.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Four protested as he started to back away. But Amar's grip tightened, and he was put at the table in a chair with a cup of tea in front of him, as if a hot drink could fix anything. Tris didn't make eye contact.

"No, it's not okay. This is not okay." Christina emphatically waved her arms, "You," she pointed at Tris, "You don't get to be a little shit all the time, treating everyone like they don't understand you. We get it, life is hard. It's been rough on all of us, and I'm willing to put up with it because I love you. But I will not stand by while you treat this guy like dirt."

She and Amar both walked towards the door. "We have reversed this handle. You will be in here until we decide to let you out. Sort this shit out." They sat, stunned, as the lock clicked on the other side.

"Not my idea," Four said quickly, crossing his arms. He was ready to be mad and silent, which worked for ten minutes or so. The clock was the only sound in the room, but it wasn't idle time in his head. Despite how slowly he breathed or how many times he counted down in the back of his mind, the questions were rotating back and forth between accusatory and deprecating until he snapped. The chair fell backwards when he launched himself to the door, trying the handle without success. He punched it loudly, before he turned to the cabinets.

"What are you doing?" she asked, wide-eyed and concerned.

"They didn't flip the deadbolt, just the handle," he explained, condescension thick like she should have thought of it first. "I'm going to take the door off the hinges."

He pulled out boxes and cans of food before finally finding a small tool box tucked under the sink. He pawed through it, finally finding two screw drivers and a wrench- barely enough to make an attempt, but he was set on trying.

"Is it really that bad to talk to me?" He looked her over, her unaffected tone and her sullen but insipid expression threw their contrasting moods in his face. He was beyond angry and she was unaffected. He meant nothing to her, not anymore. Maybe not ever.

"Listen, I'm too pissed at you for you to talk, so shut up." He pointed at her, but couldn't hold the anger as easily when he met her eyes. He turned back to the door.

"Isn't that how we got here?" she asked. "Not talking?"

"Fine, talk. If you can get it out before I have this door off, good for you." Gripping the screwdriver the best he could against the bandages, he tapped it with the wrench, driving the pin up and out.

"Tobias."

"Don't call me that," he stopped her.

"Four." It sounded foreign coming from her lips when her voice was sad and wanting, and it discomforted him enough to instantly regret the request. When he stood still, she committed to Amar's advice. "I took away your right to make a choice, and thereby your right to be angry at my rationale. And I'm sorry that I did that to you." Her overly formal word choice spurred him into action, working at the pin; she continued. "I did something," she felt like a coward for not naming it, "And you would have left anyways. So I took that decision away from you, I made that decision for you."

"Tris, just shut up," he said, adding in his mind '_For your own safety_'. He didn't trust what he'd do next if the door didn't clear the latch.

"I'm trying to say that I want to give you that choice, at least let you be mad for the right reason."

He had the pin out of the bottom hinge, pulling it free before moving up to the middle hinge. He started tapping away.

"I chose to go into that room with the death serum and the memory serum because there was a chance I would survive, and Caleb didn't have any chance. And then, I chose to die over coming back to you." She was thankful that the medication kept her tear ducts like summers kept deserts, or else she'd be incoherent. But her lack of emotion -the mater-of-fact delivery- did little to convince Four of her sincerity.

"Shut up!" he yelled, she flinched. She hadn't seen his face that red before or heard him breath so heavy, not even in Candor.

"I wanted to die, I chose to die. It hurt so bad." She nodded as he got the middle pin out. "And I didn't think you'd forgive that, so I didn't even give you the chance." She paused, "So, if you can forgive that, if you can forgive me for giving up and being so awful to you when I woke up, let me know. But it's your decision this time."

He had the top pin out, dropping the tools so he could remove the barricade that kept him there. And he was down the hall without a word. Tris put her head down on the table.

{}

"Mind your own fucking business." Four pushed Amar, square in the chest when he ran into him on his way out of the residential side of the compound.

"Whoa." He defended himself by putting his hand out onto Four's chest and walking him backwards into the wall. Four's anger was quickly dissipating into confused emotion. "Did you at least talk? What did you do to the door?"

"She talked."

"Yeah, and?"

"She's a liar," he spat.

"You sure about that?" Amar challenged.

"Too little, too late," he huffed.

"That's your decision," Amar affirmed, "But did you at least talk?" Four's downcast eyes answered his question. "Of course, you didn't." Amar pulled an old lecture straight from his memory, "You have to control yourself. There are other people in the world besides you, and not all of them are as fluent in asshole as you are." Four took a deep breath. "Now, do I owe Christina a door?"

"This was your idea?" he accused, still a little hot.

"Yeah, I drove Tris out last week. We talked. She messed up, like any fucked up kid might. And, by the look of you..." he paused, "I kind of thought it was fortuitous that you found your way here at the same time."

Four took deep breaths, processing slowly now that the immediate threat of the skinny girl was out of his periphery and just the resulting aftershocks of abusive questions remained. Amar watched as the rage came out of him with each one.

"It makes me so angry to even think about her."

"Anger isn't a feeling, it's a reaction to feeling," Amar corrects. "It's a symptom. So how do you feel?"

"I don't know," Four muttered.

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Betrayed?"

"Yeah," he more emphatically nodded.

"Abandoned?" Four huffed, then leaned against the wall, defeated.

"Well, how you feel is how you feel, but how you react, that's all up to you. But don't just stomp around being angry. Be real about this or you're never going to move on." Amar patted his shoulder. "Come on, I'm in the blue room, too." He started to walk him back.

"So the door?"

"I took it off the hinges."

"Good," he sighed in relief.

{}

Christina saw Amar taking Four down the hall. Four's body posture announced he was clearly pissed off, not to mention over an hour early. Panic drove her immediately the other way, back to Tris.

She paused, evaluating the gaping entrance to her apartment, startled. Tris was alive, but for more than a second Christina thought he might have hurt her. But her quiet breaths and a sigh eliminated physical harm as an option. She pulled a chair next to Tris and started to rub her back.

"Rome wasn't built in a day, right?"

"Yeah. But Nero did burn it all in one night."


	13. CH13: Return Trip

**Many thanks to Milner for her beta-proofing, and to BAMCN24 for not only introducing us, but for spreading the word about this fic. **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. And thanks for your support.**

A mixture of guilt and mild concern made Amar offer a ride out the next morning. Four found himself disgruntled and squished between him and Rafael in a small, rusted truck. He had a quick and hushed exchange with Amar to share his displeasure, and snapped at Rafael's incessant questions.

"Get a handle on it, soldier," Amar hissed, and it was enough for him to begrudgingly shut his mouth. In comparison to sharing a bus back with Tris, he supposed the constraining cabin was preferable.

Four tipped his head down and closed his eyes, collecting the willpower to make it to the wide open space outside the Bureau. He was comforted when he finally opened them. With the windows, it wasn't horrible, but he knew he was irritated and tried to keep that in mind before talking.

Amar skipped right over Rafael's queries into Four's silent state, instead having a playful back and forth about Rafael's uneven hair cut. It helped segue the conversation into Dauntless's reputation for meticulous preening, then towards faction initiations, with a heavy dose of Amar's opinion.

Dauntless daily life was a quick and simple set of comments: they still looped the city, provided protection, and rabble-roused around the city. Rafael was a bit more forthcoming about his reservations about being factionless, calling up specific hardships in Milwaukee. Which is where Four switched off his caustic inner monologue and clicked into their conversation.

"Do people hate your factionless?" Amar shrugged with a small nod.

"They don't have many friends right now."

"Like enough to rob them, murder them, burn them?" Amar chuckled, not sensing the sincerity in the concern, only stopping when he noted Rafael was staring back at him with pinched brow and Four was shifting to answer himself.

Amar commented unnerved. "What the hell is going on in Milwaukee?"

"There's no protection for laborers, outside of ourselves. Even this guy couldn't get through the alleys-"

"Rafael, stop." Four cut him off, under his breath. Amar saw the stifling exchange play out silently on the bench next to him. Rafael shrank back when faced with the hard gaze.

"So, Rafael, you sound like you've decided on joining a faction," Amar said, trying to move through the silence suspended on the stare.

"Yeah, I think so," he started slowly, blinking and watching Four relax. "This Dauntless business sounds bad-ass. Conquering your fears, coming out the other side better."

"Not exactly how I'd describe the landscapes," Four mumbled, dreading that as part of rejoining. He'd have to go through it again.

"I mean, I don't have many memories, so what's there to be afraid of?"

"Interesting perspective," Amar answered. "But there's always something, some phobia. Everyone has fears."

"What are you afraid of?" he asks, the inevitable curiosity leveled at both of them.

"Oh, just the most terrifying." Amar laughed. "Being buried alive, and being stranded, ants..." it was his turn to get lost in discomfort, going silent before admitting more personal qualms. Four knew Amar had at least ten, he'd seen two or three during drills and training, but like most, there were some he'd admit to and others he never mentioned.

"You, Four?" He stiffened at the question, he didn't have nearly the options for telling the softer fears. When you only have four, they all feel pungent and close.

"Oh, Four's not afraid of much. That's how he got his name, four fears," Amar explained.

"I thought your name was Four." He turned to him.

"It is," Four said to Amar, more of a declaration than a warning.

"No, it's a nickname," Amar corrected patiently, and with an eye roll as if to silently say '_Everyone knows anyways'._

"What's your real name?" Four felt so uncomfortable. Tobias was who he became when he was with her, who he wasn't without her. And the last time he'd seen her, he stomped away like a child, like Four.

"Tobias," Amar says with a smirk. "See why he changed it?"

"Shut up, Amar." He couldn't catch it before it was out of his mouth, just the sort of thing Rafael loved to hold onto. "I prefer Four."

"So what are you afraid of, Tobias?" Rafael nudged him. He just cast a sideways glance and shrugged.

"Come on!" he jeered.

Amar winked at him, because of course he knew, but he also understood the hesitation.

"Fears change as people get older, different experiences. It's probably anyone's guess what you'll have next time. Hell, you could be up to twenty with all the shit you've been through. Then what would we call you?" He grinned too broadly, pleased with himself. "Fucked." He announced the new name to yet another roll of Four's eyes.

"So, what happened before Milwaukee?" That excited quality normally so welcomed at gatherings was absolutely the last part of Rafael Four wanted in the compressed cabin as he struggled to pick a starting point.

"Well, there was a war. The Erudite attacked Abnegation -the faction that was running the government at the time- to try and throw them out. They used these serums to control the Dauntless to do it." Rafael was sitting patiently, most of this he'd gathered from the news papers and Winston. "Tris stopped the mind control, Dauntless loyal sheltered with Candor, Dauntless traitors with Erudite. Then they attacked Candor and Four helped stop them. But they wanted a Diver– they wanted Four or Tris, really. Then Tris turned herself-"

"In the end, the factionless helped overturn Erudite's control, but they wanted to destroy the factions and we were able to broker a deal right before the memory wipe that's brought us here today," Four interrupted, quickly. The triggers that were often his undoing in his nightmares were too close in the narrative to risk in an enclosed space..

"But what happened to Tris? Who is Tris?" Rafael asked.

"Nothing happened." Four cut him off, that grating annoyance wishing for a few miles of silence. "Nothing." He directed it at Amar this time, who was obviously contemplating pushing him a little more down memory lane.

"Fine." Rafael was himself a little agitated. "I will find out," he promised. "What happened to the Dauntless traitors?"

"Memory wiped," Amar filled in. "Or executed."

"Why executed?" Four asked. With something as powerful as a memory serum, it seemed strange to kill some and not others.

"If they refused the truth serum, they were executed." Then under his breath, "Or so they say."

"You have your doubts?"

"It was a lot of bodies. Then again, maybe death is preferable."

"I disagree," Rafael declared.

Four closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the window, letting Amar do what he loved to do -talk- actively monitoring for a while. It took everything in him to disengage from the chatter and let his mind wander to his own concerns.

He wasn't certain he wanted to go through his landscape again. The idea scared him so much it could easily be in it. The worst case? Nothing changed. If he still had to watch Tris die over and over and over, knowing it would be the only time he'd see her, he might as well find himself a cot in a warehouse. He wouldn't be welcome at Dauntless without at least saying he was going to try and rejoin, not for long. He just hoped he could get out of going through his landscape until he made up his mind, until he felt committed.

As Amar droned on about training and rigor, his thoughts wandered away to the ill informed passenger. He thought about Rafael: climbing up the pipe after him, helping him roll a body into the river, playfully hunting women in the back alley. He was brave. He was loyal. He was opportunistic. But he was also the last one to join a fight and never one to start it. He was reluctant to take on responsibility. And he hated to be alone. Dauntless was brutal- it asked a lot of each member, and it could be isolating both in the chaos and on the fence alike.

For three seconds he contemplated that Rafael wouldn't cut it in Dauntless, but then he had to remember how much he reminded him of Zeke. And this thought triggered a revelation that avalanched into nauseating dread. Zeke is still in Dauntless, without a brother, without a reason to want him there.

"Amar?" he interrupted, not meaning to sound as whiny as he did, "What about Zeke?" He was an awful friend. He'd only gotten the confirmation that he was still in Dauntless, nothing else. He didn't even ask how he was doing.

"Ah, what about him?" Four couldn't find the words to describe the anxiety, "Oh, oh." He realized quickly the look of discomfort. "He'll be okay. It's hard for him still, but I don't think he's holding a grudge or anything. At least not that he's mentioned."

"Who's Zeke?"

"He was a friend."

"Knock it off, stiff. He _is_ your friend."

"What happened?" Rafael couldn't help the question. Maybe he'd do better in Candor.

"I, umm, I was part of something that killed his brother," Four admitted, examining the stitches on his hand.

"Did you...did you kill him?"

Four assumed he was thinking about Rud given the gravity of the tone. "Not like that." Amar cast him a sideways glance, but didn't pursue it. He was saving up these questions for another night, a long night, he expected.

"You didn't know, it was an accident." Amar corrected him.

"I'm beginning to think it's not lucky to know you," Rafael teased, trying to be playful. But it didn't feel like fun. "Lighten up, Four, you don't know until you know; so why spend so much time worrying?"

"I like this kid," Amar commented. The rest of the drive went back to Amar and Rafael discussing the different factions with many opinions clouding the objectivity of the descriptions. But Four didn't mind. It made Erudite sound like scum and that suited him. He only had to pipe in once or twice to guide the conversation away from specifics about him.

{}

Four and Rafael followed Amar from the loading dock to the entrance- a new lock with an RFID reader had been installed. Amar waved his wristband in front of it and they passed through. Four knew exactly where to go, stomping through the lower corridors before heading up to the pit. Heads turned and some calls went up to greet Amar, it was clear to Four that no one recognized him. He inhaled the familiar scent of dust and activity. Each inhalation lifted his spirits and brought a smile onto his face. This felt like home.

This was where he'd had his first kiss and first bad date. Where Zeke had dared him to get his first tattoo. Where they'd fought and wrestled after work and too much beer. The dance parties he could only muster the confidence to attend after a night drinking. All the drinking: after initiations, holidays, weddings, funerals, births.

It seemed like weeks ago not months.

So many times he'd been with his small pack of friends, scrambling from one side to the other, jumping, climbing, plotting which Factionless camp they'd stink bomb or gathering people for paintball. Regardless of the memories his mind drifted to, there was always a smiling and carefree face tagging along in the corner of his mind. A face that would never smile again.

"Don't you people work?" Amar greeted Lauren who was watching a scuffle between two men. All the piercings in her ear were gone- just the holes remained and a chunk of cartilage missing. He had worried for her, she was among the missing during the war. He assumed she was dead, or a traitor.

"Damn it, fun's over!" Lauren lamented with a smile, shaking hands with him. "Who'd you drag back this time?" she asked, looking them over like she barely found them suitable.

Four was wearing worn blue jeans and his work boots with a white shirt under his layers of blood stained jackets. His appearance was long and natural, unusual in Dauntless, the opposite of Four. He couldn't blame her for not recognizing him. He looked factionless, or as some had said, he looked fringe; not that Lauren knew what that meant, not really.

"These weary travelers come from the exotic locale of Milwaukee. Rafael, Lauren," he introduced and they exchanged a hand shake. "Do I need to introduce Four? You remember that guy, right?" he said with a wink. Four held up his bandaged hand, unable to go through the awkward shake she was expecting from him.

"Four? No?" she asked, squinting her eyes dramatically, then pulling him into a hug. "For the love of God, you're a mess." Her touch on his shoulders felt familiar and he felt at home in her presence.

"So they say." He was genuinely happy to see her. They had spent almost two years running drills together and most of that time she pretended they were dating so they could both get some peace from their friends. "How are you? Where were you?"

"Oh, I'm surviving," she shrugged with a smile, skipping his other inquiry. "Doing better now that this guy's whipping me into shape." She paused. "What did you do?" she pointed at his hand.

"Work accident," he offered, realizing he'd be doing this everyday for a while. Rafael looked at him curiously, and the glance he got back kept him quiet. "Just a missing finger." She grimaced and shivered empathetically.

"Well, Zeke'll be done in.." she turned back to the wrestling that was kicking up dust in the middle of people, "Probably less than a couple minutes," she wagered. "I bet he wouldn't mind seeing you." She said it with a neutral face, not happy or apprehensive, just frustratingly neutral.

"Oh good, he'll be tired," Amar quipped. And that told a fuller story in a heartbeat. Zeke may not be looking forward to sharing a faction.

"I thought you said he'd be alright." Four looked at him nervously.

"The odds are probably closer to fifty-fifty than I made them seem," he stated just as a cheer went up at a concession, and the onlookers started to dissipate. "Won't have to wait long to know."

He turned him around and put his hands on his shoulders, bracing him out in front of him. Zeke was getting helped up off the ground, as was the other guy, so it was difficult to know who won.

He dusted himself off and caught sight of Lauren and Amar with the new people in the edge of the crowd -smiled broadly and walked over- face full of curiosity at the new people. He was working hard to catch his breath. Heat radiated off of him and dirt stuck to his sweat. It must have been a long fight given how cold the pit was. He dabbed at his ear with his shirt collar; a little blood trickled down his neck.

"Amar, I'm always surprised when you come back." He smiled, then looked at Four, square in the eyes. When recognition crossed his face, Four looked away and prepared for a punch.

"Well look what the cat drug in." His face was expressionless while he processed. "You look like shit," he declared before colliding into him. His arms wrapped around him slowly and firmly, and Four missed the usual hand slapping and vigor. A big, broad smile crossed his face, his eyes sentimental and relieved, draining all the gut-stopping nerves out of Four.

Four held his arm out protectively, and then relaxed in relief. "That's what every keeps saying."

"What is up with the beard?" He laughed, holding him out for examination. "That is crazy. Shauna isn't going to recognize you."

"It was cold and I'm lazy."

"No you're not," Zeke rejected. "You're Four – super soldier, punisher of the lazy," he said in a mocking and dramatic tone.

"Rafael, this is Zeke," Four introduced, Zeke's arm still on his back. "Slightly less-super soldier." It felt good to be playful. "Did you win?" He asked, nodding to where the fight had just broken up, at the same time getting a little separation. But Zeke's hand stayed on his shoulder, like he might disappear.

"Oh, yeah. I did." He looked at him closer, finally letting his hand drop. "I bet I could beat you right now."

"I'm one handed." Four rolled his eyes.

"Been a while since the odds were on my side," he teased, then in a chastising tone, asked the inevitable question. "What did you do?"

"Work accident," Rafael commented for him.

"Rafael, it's great to have you here." He shook his hand. "Hey, it's lunch time, and you're in luck, they just started serving cake again." He took custody of them, eager to ask Four all about the outside. Amar disappeared out back to unload supplies.

Four filled his plate with two of each protein they had to offer and a generous slice of chocolate cake. Rafael took more variety and followed them back to a near-empty table. Four removed his outer two layers, setting them under him. And then he regretted it. Zeke looked startled.

"You're not dying, right?" He shoveled a hamburger onto his tray.

"Nope. I'm fit as a fiddle." Four averted his eyes and put the patty back before he started to pick at his food.

"I can't believe how skinny you are." He looked like he'd smelt something bad, disgusting. "I can't let Shauna see you like this."

"Like what?"

"You all skinny. She'd just finally got the ingredients to bake me cookies. You show up like this and she'll divert my supply. What the hell happened to you?"

Rafael laughed, warming up to Zeke quickly. "First it was the flu, then it was the strike. The fool cut his rations, gave most of it to other people." Four's cheeks reddened.

"Strike?"

"Yeah, at the work site, we went on strike for weeks, months, until Four and the other leaders got the city to meet our demands."

"So, not like a war-strike," Zeke confirmed.

"No," Four commented, "Like a 'we won't fix your road as fast' strike." He chuckled. "Not as much drama, lower stakes." Rafael found this to be a little insulting but thought better than to share his opinion. Zeke evaluated the concept.

"And that worked?"

"Yeah, eventually." Four shrugged. "I mean, we put them months behind schedule and time is money out there."

"And no one died?"

Four took a bite of food, avoiding an answer, and thought about the bodies he'd rolled into the river, battered and beaten by one side or the other. He had to put his fork down and concentrate to keep from losing himself to a more vivid recall. Rafael just pushed his tray back and crossed his arms.

"So you built roads?" Zeke wrinkled his nose. "Sounds boring."

"You still walking laps around the city?" Four retorted.

"Yeah, me, but you never did well with monotony."

"What did you do here?" Rafael asked.

"Computers," he stated. "Remember? I thought I told you that."

"Don't let him fool you. He ran the whole control room."

"Worked in," Four tried to correct. Harrison had technically run the department, the control room.

"And still did all the other facilities crap. And he ran drills and initiation."

"Drills?" Rafael asked.

"Every six weeks, members have to run through refresher drills, physical training, you know, keep the skills up. He used to run them two weeks a month. The guy is a beast, doesn't know what 'quit' means."

"Yeah, that I know." Four cast Rafael another weary glance. "Dude, if there's something you don't want me saying, we should have talked about it before you brought me here."

"What?" Zeke asked.

"Nothing. Just Milwaukee would be best left in Milwaukee," Four advised his friend. "So, my apartment? Still open?"

"Yeah, think so," Zeke nodded, making a mental note of where the application of his liquor could be useful in the future. "No guarantee that the kids haven't been using it, for whatever." He arched his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh great, it'll be full of bottles and condoms." He wasn't looking forward to cleaning up.

"_Someone_ has to get action in that place," Zeke teased, somehow triggering the idea to ask in his most innocent tone. "Have you talked to Tris, yet?" It came out too casual for Four's recently ruffled feathers.

"Not really. Briefly." He huffed.

"Who's Tris?" Rafael demanded.

"The girl that started this mess." Zeke waved at his appearance. "Without her, he'd never have left and we'd all be mindless zombies."

Four cleared his throat. "Rafael is one of those mindless zombies, I'd be careful what you say. He can't be held responsible, after all." He sensed that the two of them could easily develop a friendship, each of them knowing a little too much about his two lives for him to trust them by themselves. He decided to have a conversation with each of them, some ground rules, or he's whole life story would be the gossip of the faction.

"So this girl? Was this a romantic thing? I thought Four might like the fellows." Zeke chuckled.

"You know, you're not the only one. But I can confirm, she has tits and everything." He wiggled his eyebrows. Four stared at him, stone faced and trying to keep his hands on the table.

"Careful, Zeke." His lowered tone set his friend straight.

"Man, you think you know a guy." Rafael rolled his eyes, "You're all full of secrets."

"Secrets are Four's hobby," Zeke mused.

"Don't exaggerate," he dismissed, and tried to change the subject, stop the conversation between the two of them. "How is Shauna?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Zeke reprimanded, "She's doing alright. It's been hard, a big adjustment. Had to move her apartment out of the north wing to the south."

"You haven't shacked up yet?"

"Not that she admits. Likes to think of herself as being independent." He smiled coyly, proudly. "But I don't sleep in my place very often." He wore his grin like a merit badge, blushing a little.

"I'm glad things are working out," Four said, since there was a time just before the last initiation when he thought he might have to choose sides as things were heading south so quickly.

"Yeah, she's working in the daycare now, since she can't patrol anymore. The kids really love her and it keeps the baby talk to a minimum."

"Whoa, babies?" Rafael put his hands up. "How old are you?" Zeke flushed a little. It was a rare event.

"She's a 'only live once' type of girl, now, anyways. I'm holding my own, though."

{}

Four led the way through the maze of hallways to his old apartment. The door had been jimmied, sloppily, and the handle barely passed for attached. The thermostat was set low, cold. The hollow creek of the hinges screamed out more ghosts than feelings of home. But there was a familiarity about it that brought up a sensation, like he'd seen it only in photos, only in dreams, and only then in the flesh. It was from a lifetime ago.

"Kids," Four sighed, taking in the predicted mess. "Oh bless'em." He smiled, finding a half full bottle of clear liquor. "We just might catch these assholes when they come back for this," he mused, taking a gulp -pills be damned- and passing it over to Rafael.

"If we want to stay here. We'd better start cleaning." He found trash bags in the cabinet, untouched, and passed one to Rafael. "I'll get the sheets." He set about the unsavory task of removing the bedding and putting it in his washing machine.

"This looks like a lot of kids." Four shrugged.

"It'll be so satisfying, if I can get my hands on them," he said, looking at the overflowing trashcan with used, discarded prophylactics.

"You're not serious about hurting kids, are you?" He had to ask. This more controlled and carefully crafted side of Four reminded him of who he first met, not who he just rode with on a bus.

"After this?" he asked, pointing at the basket, "Not hurting. Just scaring," he admitted. "I have a reputation. And I can't go all soft on the up and coming demons, or it'll be hell to pay if I do initiation again."

"I picked up on that, super-soldier." He tossed a crumpled paper bag at him. "So, let me get my story straight, you lost that finger in an accident?"

"Look, you say 'work accident,' no one cares to hear the story. They just fill in the blanks themselves. If I say I lost it in a fight, they'll want the play by play, and I'm just not going to."

"What's up with the crazy hair and tattoos?"

"That's just fun," he smiled. "Why, you want some ink?"

"Like you? No." He recoiled. "Looks painful."

"It is." He stacked his already full bag by the door. "But that's the point. If you can handle the pain, you'll know what freedom is."

"That makes no sense."

"Getting tattooed is incredibly painful. The most painful thing I've ever chosen to do. But it's a _choice_. And when it's done, it's like you can go through anything because it's temporary and it's probably not as bad -or as permanent- as what you did to yourself."

"More painful than losing a finger?"

"In the moment? No. Right now with pain pills and alcohol, about even," he smirked, taking a drink. "But knowing it's temporary, that this will pass. Helps me move through it."

"You sure you fit in with these meatheads?" Rafael asked, using one of Amar's colorful terms for the faction.

"Ever heard the term Divergent?" he started, ready to discuss the background of the recent insurrection, but the jiggle of the handle stopped him.

"Quick, back against the wall," he whispered, moving out of eye-line.

"Oh crap, looks like they're cleaning it up," a girl complained as she stepped in followed by a boy. They held hands and looked around, seeing Four just when he got to the door and shut it.

"We didn't know anyone was living here," she defended. The boy put her behind him, which seemed to annoy her.

"Well, I was out of the city for a while," Four stated. Rafael heard it as a low, steady tone similar to what he used in meetings. "And I come back to find some punk kids are squatting where they don't belong."

"We didn't mean anything by it."

"What are your names?"

"Tara," she squeaked.

"Seth," he answered.

"Is this how you treat your parent's apartments?" he asked.

"And who are you? Some factionless slob? Are you even supposed to be here?" Seth asked, getting a little hot headed, typical bravado.

"My name's Four," he said quietly and directly, letting it sink in for a second. Seth's shoulders slumped and his head bent in aversion. "And I don't like what you've done here. I would like to see it cleaned up, tonight. In fact, right now works, since you obviously have time." They both nodded. "You have an hour, after that, I get your folks involved." Neither looked excited but when he snapped his fingers they both shuffled to start.

Four stepped out of the apartment, Rafael right behind him. Down the hallway, Four led him into the stairwell and up, letting out a solid laugh he'd been holding until the door closed. "Oh that kid almost wet himself." He pushed through the next floor. "Let's see what Lauren's up to."

He knocked on the center of the door, thinking better of using the key carefully tucked away in one of his six pockets. It's different when people don't expect you; but back before everything went to shit -before Tris- he was here almost every night.

"Four, Rafael. I figured I'd see you tonight." He held up the jug. "Most honored guest, where did you get that?" She exclaimed, taking it from him and quickly pulling down mismatched glasses.

"Seth and Tara. Or maybe one of the other little hooligans copulating like rabbits in my apartment." He noted her holsters and knives were still out on the table and hung them up by the door for her, old habit.

"Those two?" She crinkled her nose. "She can do better."

"Probably." He laughed, pulling out a chair for Rafael. "Lauren and I go about as far back as I can in this faction," he explained. "Rafael is considering taking the aptitude test."

"Oh God, why bother?" she exclaimed, catching Four off guard, but also giving them a topic to argue about while the clock ticked down and the bottle diminished. They moved to the couch at one point, Four stretching out and closing his eyes for just a second. He woke up, finding Rafael and Lauren talking quietly back at the table. His hand ached for another dose of pills, but he wouldn't dare with what he drank.

"You sure it's alright if he stays here?"

"Yeah, he's done it tons of times," she assured.

"Good, I don't like waking him up when he's actually sleeping."

"What do you mean?"

"That guy has more nightmares than he has hours to fill." He shook his head. "Says some scary shit when he wakes up. I don't know what you all went through here, but I wouldn't have come if I thought I could get him to get help on his own."

Four wanted to interrupt them, but at the same time, he was just as curious about Rafael's motivations as he was protective of his past. Lauren was safe. She kept secrets, better than Zeke; he knew he could rely on her, so he kept his eyes shut.

"That hand was pretty infected, and he didn't have the money to go to the doctor. It just didn't make sense. It's not like he blew it on booze and girls like the rest of us. I think he got himself into some kind of trouble. But he wouldn't leave either. I think he'd be dead if he didn't get to a hospital."

"He's always been too full of pride to have any sense," Lauren scoffed. "What kind of trouble? What happened to his hand?"

"Work accident."

"At least you're both in on the lie now," she leveled at him with the tone Four knew could melt initiates. Rafael sighed, clearly uncomfortable.

"He got jumped by five guys. Couldn't out run them. But the guy that was with him when it started said there was one guy in the group that seemed to know him, singled him out."

He couldn't contain himself. "Mistaken identity," he mumbled. "Wrong place at the wrong time."

"You keep telling yourself that," she muttered. She knew he was lying.


	14. CH14: Forced to be Kind

**Many thanks to Milner for her beta-proofing, and to BAMCN24 for not only introducing us, but for spreading the word about this fic. **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. And thanks for your support.**

Four stopped at the medical center on his way out of Dauntless to get the bandage changed on his hand; some healing serum; and his ankle wrapped. Janice had been a constant in his life, and he was glad to see her.

She had always checked his BMI and body fat percentage for every round of drills and looked over each member or initiate that he'd brought here. When she caught sight of him, her expression was maternal and scolding, and she scooted him into the room with a wave of his file.

"You're in trouble, Four," she tsked, as he stood there, barefooted on the scale, pulling a measuring tape around his hips and chest. "Your BMI is too low. You've lost a lot of muscle mass. I have to declare you unfit," she chuckled. "First time for everything." She checked the box then pinched the back of his arm.

"I can't even estimate your body fat." She shook her head. "You've been starving yourself. I'm going to recommend a special diet: one-third protein, one-third-"

"Carbs, one-third fat," he finished her standard recommendation. "I'll consider it."

"And vegetables, the green things. They have vitamins. If you want to be cleared for drills then you have to get back up to a BMI of at least 21; you have to put on twenty pounds."

"Yeah, I'll work on it." He smiled. "How about looking at my ankle. I have to jump a train today." He didn't trust it not to collapse under him.

"Oh, the trains, they stop now a days in the city. You just have to worry about at the facility." She removed his sock and looked at the dissipating purple bruise that went all the way down to his toes.

"Kid, you got something fierce growing on these feet." She turned up her nose and reached for the anti-fungal spray before she applied a splint and let him put his boot back on. "And the other one?" she asked, spraying that foot as well.

"Sucker?" She held out a bin and he rolled his eyes, but took one anyways. "It's good that you're back," she smiled. "I thought I'd lost you too." Everyone had passed through her office: traitors, dead, and disappeared alike.

"Thanks Janice." He put on a thin smile to convey his compassion towards her, but hopefully not over expose the satisfaction he felt at her worrying over him. He was starting to feel guilty, glutenous over the number of individuals expressing a similar sentiment. He'd spent two years wriggling that feeling of being out of place, only to find that he'd whittled a home out of his decision. It gave him doubts about going to Johanna for a job, like that was some how betraying their trust.

He stepped out, feeling better about jumping a train, although his boot was now bulkier and heavier with the splint. Rafael was waiting outside in the hallway, having struck up a conversation with the next member in line. He was going with him to the work office while he was meeting with Johanna about a position. Four was reluctant to rush him into Dauntless, unlike Amar and others. He wanted him to have the benefit of seeing all the factions, understanding the differences and the similarities for himself before making a decision.

"Okay, so, the train isn't going to stop." He felt the need to explain since he grew up knowing. He greeted a few confused looking acquaintances as he took his place among the waiting members, forgetting his appearance. "So, when I start running, you should, too. Aim for the second car," he commented, testing his splint by bouncing on his soles and kicking the gravel. The train could be heard coming from the direction of Amity.

"What? Seriously?" Rafael watched, astounded at the shuffle in the crowd as they thinned out and put space between each other.

"Yeah, ready?" he asked, the train turning into view. Four started to jog with the crowd, progressing into a run to match the car. He easily kept pace, and used his left hand to pull himself up, popping the door lock carefully with his right thumb. He slid inside as easy as breathing. He turned to see Rafael's worried and concentrated face eyeing the handle. He reached, grabbed, and pulled himself up unsteady.

"You all are crazy." He flopped against the wall at the other side like he'd been sucked in on an elastic line.

"Wait until you have to jump," Four commented, waiting for the rest of the herd to lean out against the cold wind for the pleasant numbness on his face and ears. The train broke, slowed, and stopped just down from the Merciless Mart.

"I thought you said we had to jump."

"On the way back," he warned, pulling him out of the throngs to give him directions to the work office in the lobby of Candor. "If you get turned around, just ask someone in white or grey." It seemed like the safest advice.

He stomped through the slush into the Government Center next door and up to the man at the front desk. It seemed out of place to him, all the people wearing solid blue or gray or white. Seeing the faction colors after months of being outside made it seem silly, the affiliations advertised through clothing. The look he got back in his mixed colors and work boots must have mirrored his own. They all eyed him as an obvious outsider.

"Hello, I'm here to see Johanna," he stated clearly.

"Is she expecting you?"

"Yes and no."

"Who's asking?"

"Four. Tobias Eaton." He said both names, not certain which she might recall faster. The man's eyes widened a little in recognition. "I was told to stop in when I got back."

He stepped aside and placed a call, then gave him instructions to the seventh floor.

Johanna's office had a low lying table with pillows around it and plants lined up, creeping across the windows that looked out over the open space in front of the building. A tea station that was to the side and the sound of birds and crickets playing over speakers probably made her feel closer to home. She must feel out of place without the nature of the Amity farms. He was surprised to see her in cream clothes not belonging to any faction. She smiled broadly when she saw him.

"Four," she greeted, un-phased by his appearance, putting her hands on his shoulders when she saw he couldn't shake. "I'm sorry to see you've been injured."

"It's okay, I'm getting over it. You asked to see me?"

"Ah yes. I'm very interested in your experiences in Milwaukee, outside the city. The outside isn't something we've learned much about yet. But I did see you mentioned in some articles in a government newsletter."

"The strikes?"

"Yes, the strikes. I couldn't help but draw parallels between the workers and our former-factionless." She paused. "Please sit. Would you like some tea?"

"Sure." He eyed her. "If it's just tea. It's not spiked?"

She set a cup down. "No serums, no additives, just leaves," she assured. He found it awkward, sitting at the small table on a cushion that's overstuffed and threatening his sense of balance. She sat easily and comfortably in front of him. "Now, this is a special blend- a gift from the outside. They call it Jasmine tea. I think it's quite nice." She sips it and he follows suit.

"So, what would you like to know?" He sniffed at it, before setting it aside to let it cool.

"I want to know if you'd like a job."

"What kind of job?" The prideful part of him thought she might ask him to join as part of the leadership.

"Liaison between the government and our laborers. Right now that's the former-factionless, but I think it's logical that the mix is more diverse in the future. Someone has to speak on their behalf- protect them from the greed that has overrun the factions in the past." He was disappointed, a little offended, and in swift succession, annoyed.

"Why me? Isn't Therese in the leadership now?"

"Therese is floundering. You have experience."

"I have my mother, you mean."

"It doesn't hurt that you're related, no." She smiled, not meaning to bring out that bitter tone in him. "Think of it as a tool. But I'm referring to your actual experience, it would be invaluable to them." She sips some more.

"I'm Dauntless."

"Are you going to stay?" She sounded surprised.

"I'm considering it. It's a simple way to live, and simple sounds real good." Her face echoed his sentiment, and he wondered if she wished she were back on the farms instead of trapped in this glass box. "If Therese isn't working out, that's their problem." He crossed his arms.

"The war was real hard on Amity. We lost so many people in the last fight. We can't survive without the former-factionless." She couldn't hide her displeasure. "We need them to till the fields and pick the fruit, and we need them to do it without causing problems. But I'm fair; I don't think they should be asked to slave away at our request. I want them to have what they need and be able to make a life out of it. A good, honest life. Isn't that what everyone deserves?"

She paused to sip before continuing. "I'll be candid. Therese is pushing for more and more power and representation. She's rubbing what's left of Candor and Erudite the wrong way. I don't think I can keep peace much longer in the board room let alone the streets. She's an abysmal leader. They keep changing their demands and there's a million different requests. Which means we can't satisfy any of them. So when it comes down to it, they feel the oppression already. I need someone there that they'll listen to. Someone that can get them to respond without violence and guns. Someone that can make them organize like a faction." She looked at him gravely. "We just don't have the numbers for more war."

"I need to think about it."

"Do you really?" she prodded.

"Fine, I'll do it. But only part time, If I can. Dauntless needs to stay an option. I want to fade into that when everything seems stable."

"Of course," she cooed. But she sounded patronizing- placating like she thought stability would never be within reach. "I think it might only require a few days a week. It would be best if you started by getting to know Therese's team and explain your role. Then I would work out the supplies, if I were you. They haven't exactly had a unified front on getting what they need. Should be able to handle that, right?" She winked.

He took her advice and her directions down to the basement level- of course they would put them in the basement, right next to the trash bins. He started the list of changes that needed to happen with that. Therese and a few others were milling around, not really doing much but arguing. He cleared his throat to announced his presence.

"This is a closed meeting," Therese commented, with a glare, they all fell silent.

"Hello Therese," he sighed. "I'm here to help."

They exchanged some heated back and forth that exhausted his patience as he proposed his role as adviser to their cause. He brought forward the strategies they used in Milwaukee and the effects they had on the bargaining process. Over the course of an hour they had finally stopped arguing and started discussing. By the time they had agreement on his assistance, he was mentally drained and quick to irritate.

"Now, I heard you have needs in the community and that too many people are asking for different things. Can we agree on a list and I'll take it to this 'request' office?" He walked them through the needs against what were obvious wants and the distribution network that they had organized. They talked about the unique needs of each safe house. In the end he had one list in his hands.

"Good luck. The girl at the desk is a real hard-ass, but she's cute. I think you could do well with her. She use to be Dauntless, so work some magic." A man name Ivan snickered perversely and Four rolled his eyes. He started up the stairs to the lobby, telling himself that he needed to be training his body if he'd be stuck in offices all day, but really he needed the time and effort to expend the tension. The stairs topped out at the lobby, where he found Rafael loitering between him and the elevator bank.

"What's the story?" he asked.

"There's work out in this place called Amity farms? Something about greenhouses."

"Yeah, Amity. It's a faction. They grow all the food. I guess they're looking for help. Sounds like good work."

"How about you? All set?"

"I've got to go up and wrangle some supplies for the former-factionless, my new job." He sighed, still wondering exactly what he's gotten into.

"Can I come with? Getting bored being stared at."

"Sure."

The directions weren't the best between the elevator and where they needed to go. They joked as they passed the same office -again- making a decision to go right instead of left; finally a sign on the wall read 'Supplies Request Office'. Four was in the middle of laughing at a joke when he stepped through the doorway, paused, cursed, and turned around.

"What?" Rafael asked, nearly losing his balance as he pushed past him.

"Ugh, not today," he groaned. "Can you give this to the girl in there?"

"Me?" He peeked his head around the corner. "Oh, I'd tap that," he exclaimed, trying to snatch the paper. Four pulled it back out of reach, not willing to entertain the possibility of Rafael's sweet talk working.

"Not to hit on her."

"Hey, you pass, you pass."

"Fine." He took a breath and stepped through the doorway with all the restraint he could manage. Tris was sitting, looking amused at what conversation she could hear, until her face dropped with recognition.

"Four." She smiled meekly and with some hope in her eyes.

"Tris," he replied tersely, unfolding the paper list. "The former-factionless have a request to submit."

"Oh." She deflated. "Yeah, here's the form." She passed him a clipboard, then looked at his hand. "I can transcribe it, if you need me to."

"I'm fine." He took the pen in his left hand and the clipboard in his right.

"You throw right," she recalled.

"Yeah. I do." He stared down at the required information.

"So, you're joining the Former-Factionless?" she asked. He didn't want to hear her talk.

"No."

"But you're handling their forms?"

"Yes."

"How do I know it's really for them and not extras for Dauntless?" she asked.

"Between the two of us, I've lied the least. So I guess you'll just have to trust my record," he spat.

"That's unfair."

"Everything is unfair, isn't it Tris?" He ground his teeth, writing faster.

"Don't take that tone with me.," she shot back.

"Then back off." His voice rose just slightly.

"You're being inappropriate!" Her volume increased too.

"Will you shut up? Just let me write!" He was barking at her.

"I'm _not_ your subordinate."

"No, lying bitches aren't allowed in Dauntless."

"What did you call me?"

"Just shut up. It's what you're good at."

She responded with a curt statement before they devolved into a swift back and forth about the lies she told, how controlling he'd been, and how he never let her finish her sentence.

"Stop," Carl commanded, stepping between them. Rafael looked stunned in the doorway. Johanna had been passing on her way to a meeting, but was now behind him open mouthed and concerned.

"Office. Now," Johanna pointed into Carl's space. Like punished children they huffed in and the door closed behind them. Rafael scrambled to grab the clipboard, eager to ensure a swift get-away, an added benefit being that he could easily hear while he transcribed.

"What is going on?" Johanna asked.

"She started it," he muttered. She bit her tongue starting to feel embarrassed.

"So I guess this means you're not together anymore?" They both avoided her quizzical eyes. "Well it doesn't matter. You two have to work together," Johanna declared. "Obviously, there is a lack of respect between you." They didn't argue. "And respect is built on trust. You have to work together, so figure out a way to work this out so that you're at least civil inside this building."

"Or what?" Four spat, regretting immediately when he saw her nostrils flare.

"Or I'll find someone else to fill both your positions and black list you to the factionless to fight this out in private."

He wasn't certain if she could follow through, but he knew he couldn't avoid her if they had to share a faction-even one as disorganized as the former-factionless. At the moment, he'd rashly give up a second finger to avoid her all together.

"What do we have to do?" Tris moped, more embarrassed than angry.

"In Amity, when there was a conflict, the members would have to do something nice for each other with each other. Like help him put together a punching bag and you help her alphabetize her books, or something. I don't care what you choose, but you have until the end of the week to figure it out."

Johanna took a deep breath, clearly upset at being upset, and let it out with a drop of her shoulders. "If this was Amity, I'd fill you both with peace serum, but it's not. So you'll just have to work this out the old fashioned way. Understood?"

They both nodded and were ushered out like petulant children, neither looking at each other. Rafael was timidly completing the transcription as Four passed him by and stood in the hallway. He passed the clipboard back to Tris, who didn't even make eye contact.

"So, was that Tris?"

"Shut up." Four stalked down the hall into the elevator. He was silent all the way back to the faction and only spoke to warn when it was time to jump.

"What's the news from the city?" Amar asked, meeting them at the door to wave them in with his wrist band. Four glared at him and pressed in without comment. Rafael shook his head in warning.

"What's he so pissed about?" Amar asked, ignoring the request.

"Tris has a mouth on her, but that guy? There were words I'd _never_ say to a woman," he commented.

"Shut up, Rafael!" Four spat again, clearly hearing him as the conversation resonated down the hall.

Amar cringed knowingly, hanging back so they could get out of earshot. "So, ran into Tris?"

"Yeah, they had a big blow up and got caught by some lady who must be the boss, and she sentenced them to 'do something nice'," he emphasized with quotes.

"Scar across her face?" Rafael nodded. "Yeah, that would be the big boss, head of the government right now. 'Do something nice'?" he snickered. "What kind of tree-hugging crap is that?"

"Something about doing something together for each other or they both lose their jobs. The door was thick, got hard to hear at times."

"So, she's making them spend time together?" Amar smirked. "That's great."

"I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. He's pretty upset."

"Yeah, but a little 'something nice' might be all they need to work this out and set things right." Amar clapped him on the back. "Let's get some food. Let him go run himself to death, or whatever."

{}

Tris was sullen, not angry. She'd hoped more than once that Tobias would appear at her door or in her office or on the street and forgive her. The seconds between seeing him and hearing his tone were her most enjoyable in months. When it sunk in that he'd have to spend time with her, she felt her heart both float and boil at the same time. She'd get to see him and he'd have to be nice to her. Or at least not awful. But he could also be silent, distant. She wasn't certain she could handle indifference any better than hate.

She cooked dinner that night with Caleb watching, worried, from the table. She was quiet. Nothing to report from her research which was unusual.

"Something happen today?" he asked.

"Tobias. Four," she sighed. "Showed up at work, had an argument." She stirred the soup. "Johanna is making us do something together."

"Oh. What kind of thing?"

"Something nice," she pouted.

"And how does that make you feel?" he asked, and it reminded her of when she saw the therapist.

"Conflicted. Anyway, I have to figure out something we can do together that benefits me. And he has to pick something for him. What should I do?"

"I don't know. You could ask him to stay out of your office." She laughed a little, and he was pleased he could make her smile. "You could make him paint your toes, like Christina does. That seems to make her like you." Another chuckle. He was on a roll.

"I don't know, I can't make him like me. But I can show him that I trust him." Then it occurred to her, "Tattoos," she nodded. "He's very philosophical about tattoos."

"Another tattoo?" Caleb curled his nose. "And you'll let Four do it?"

"I don't know, maybe. Maybe I'll just let him pick a design for me."

In Dauntless, Amar, Zeke, Rafael and Lauren were cheering Four up with a similar conversation and the remainder of the jug.

"You could make her wash your feet," Lauren snickered, always willing to side with him over some girl.

"Or clip your toenails," Zeke added, inspired by Lauren.

"How about finish cleaning your apartment?" Amar offered.

"Had the kids do it," Four dismissed, dreading anything and everything they suggest.

"Cut you hair, please, let her cut your hair," Lauren begged, pulling in the bottle for a swig.

"That might work." Four shrugged. "I mean, I don't really care for it long. No one recognizes me and she can't mess it up if I give her clippers."

"With what you called her, you best guard your ears," Rafael cautioned and Four laughed a little.

"What did he call her?" Zeke begged.

"Ah, there were a few real gems."

"Shut up, Rafael." Four said it nicer than before, but with a sharp edge. He wasn't proud of what came out of his mouth. The idea of admitting to his friends what he said was mortifying, but he didn't have control of Rafael this time.

"Um, 'bitch' a couple of times." They nodded, Lauren giggling. Red faced, Four poured himself another drink. "I think 'fuck face' once?" He groaned. "And there was one that I've never used. Sounded like runt." Four hung his head as Lauren gasped with a chuckle.

"Where did a stiff like you even learn that one?" Zeke asked.

"No one said fuck face," he declared, defensively.

"Why do they all call you Stiff?" Rafael asked, getting the jug instead.

{}

Tris met Tobias out in front of the Merciless Mart, arranged by Amar who so gleefully assisted. Spring had been blown out of the city for the day by a frigid wind. His hand hurt and throbbed as he tested his first day without pain pills, although he wished the bottle wasn't empty; it made him feel raw and distracted. He looked at her warily as she approached. He'd come prepared to be on his best behavior having spent all morning stating, "What doesn't kill me..." over and over.

"I'm sorry I called you some horrible names," he started, convinced that if they were going to avoid failure he needed to start off with a simple and easy concession. The rules of negotiation were very much at the forefront of his mind.

"Thank you for apologizing. I'm sorry I escalated the argument," she admitted. "So, you go first. What are we doing?"

"I've made arrangements for a haircut." She laughed a little. "Yeah, yeah. I'm not that creative. Lauren begged me."

"Throw in a shave and you have a deal." She smiled.

"I don't know if I trust you with a razor."

"Isn't that the point. Trusting each other?" He lead the way to the barber shop in Candor. She wanted so badly to take his arm, walk beside him, but she didn't dare to follow fewer than two steps behind.

He sat down, struggling to taking off his jacket over his hand. She carefully tugged on the sleeve, his face thankful but guarded. It was obvious that a healthy diet was already taking effect- his collar bones weren't looking as pronounced. The observation pleased her. The barber showed her the tools: simple clippers with a guard. When she passed his hair behind his ear, it was frozen and cold. She couldn't help but cup it with her hand to warm it up, like a long off memory of his mother in his youth. He swallowed hard and focused on keeping his composure.

Her slender, warm fingers pulled his hair back away from his face. She smiled at him in the mirror, clipping a cape around his neck. She steadied her hand starting her first pass, dropping ribbons of locks onto his shoulders. He bit his lip as he saw Milwaukee fall away and Abnegation return. When she gently folded his ear over he laughed a little.

"What?" She asked.

"Rafael thought you might take my ear off," he admitted. "I sort of thought so too."

"I thought about it," she teased. "But it would mess with your impeccable symmetry."

"Yeah, my symmetrical head," he mused.

"It's one of your redeeming features."

"Nice to know I'm redeemable."

"Everyone has the capability of being better with time and patience." An Abnegation phrase.

He caught himself -not mad or upset- but enjoying the simple feeling of the vibration of the clippers; the warmth of her touch as she helped his hair to the floor and ran her finger tips over the stubble. The feeling crested before it gutted him almost to the point of cracking. "All done," she announced, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Now, this beard thing, you have going on."

"Give me a second," he asked, putting his hand on hers and running his finger tips over the back of her hand.

"Last goodbyes?" she teased, not wanting him to stop the motion.

"I don't know if I can handle you touching my face," he admitted, and her heart tore a little with the sadness in his expression. His hand dropped back into his lap under the curtain.

"Do you trust me?" she asked. He didn't move. "Do you trust me to do this for you?" she asked again. He did, so he nodded. "Okay. I'm going to use the clippers first. Then the razor, alright?" He nodded, eyes down, both sad and apprehensive like he was about to be punished. His chest moved faster, pulse elevated. She felt like she was inflicting damage on him as she clicked the button and felt the vibration in her hand.

She slid a shortest guard in place- the blades too hot to put directly on his skin. She started removing the growth down to less than an eighth of an inch, hoping it was short enough to avoid pulling when it came time for a razor. Each pass brought Tobias back from the fringe to Chicago.

His hollow cheeks told the extent of the suffering he'd endured because she'd asked him to leave. The request came because she didn't deserve his faithfulness, and was executed out of his loyalty. She stopped the clippers, the absence of sound betraying her sniffle. He caught her wiping a tear from her face before she made it out the door. He decided it was close enough to call the job done.

He stood up, tipping the barber for the time while he pulled on his jacket, and taking hers so he could pursue her on the street. He wished he'd thought to bring a hat.

She was standing just outside the door, facing the wind, numbing herself. He offered her jacket. "Your turn." He smiled slightly, urging her to move them out of the wind.

She walked just a step in front of him through the throngs of passing people to the train, stepping on one after the other. She was quiet, withdrawn, not certain what to say or do. He expected to see her stubborn and resolved- she looked defeated and worn instead.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, looking around at the other passengers, not used to the fact that every faction now used his preferred mode of transportation.

"Just a little freedom." She smiled, but kept her eyes trained down. "I thought it was time for a tattoo." She paused. "The only place is Dauntless. Amar, he made arrangements." Four was slightly annoyed that he didn't get the heads up.

"So, you want me to?" He begged her not to say 'tattoo me.' Not trusting his artistic capabilities.

"Pick a design, pick a place. You just have to stay between the lines," she assured.

"You want me to, alter your body?"

"If you umm, could...cover a scar," she said, eyes examining her hands. "Something to make it look not so bad."

It struck him as an odd request. "Why? They're proof of how strong you are."

"How damaged," she corrected. She stepped up to the door as the train glided to a stop two streets from Dauntless. "I hope you don't mind. I can't really jump, I'm still healing."

"No complaints, I understand." He held up the evidence clearly wrapped around his hand.

Her statement about being damaged was sticking in his mind -recalling how Christina said she was different- and he could feel the change in moments like that: self doubt, giving up. He wanted to pick another fight just so he could see her fight back.

Amar opened the door, looking a little scared and sheepish as they approached. Four suspected he'd been watching the camera for them to arrive, the grainy frame probably not good enough to determine if everything was calm between them. Bud was with him, leaning against the wall, bored.

"Ready?" Bud asked. Amar was uncharacteristically quiet as they passed. They followed him through the pit. More people took notice, seeing Four cleaned up and Tris with him. They were a distinctive pair ever since Candor. But no one stopped them, taking note of the distance between them, the procession looking funerary, not something to disturb.

"So, um, here's five to choose from." Tris pulled out sheets of paper, all of them from Tori's portfolio courtesy of George. "Pick one, pick a place, fill it in," she asked, pulling her coat off.

He took notice of her, really for the first time, now that he had to contemplate positioning a design on her. She wore a burgundy sweater buttoned up to her collar- a black shirt peaking out around her waist. Her black slacks were salt stained at the bottom, baggy and hiding the definition of her legs. She had a necklace with two rings, one bigger than the other- probably her parents' wedding rings. Then her face, eyes slightly swollen and red, a tear dried on her cheek from the wind. She was small, and fragile, and if he believed her, broken.

He looked at the drawings, the seven birds, a triangle with an eye in it, a constellation of stars, a dragonfly, and the erudite symbol.

The last one made him angry. He knew she couldn't deny that part of herself, but after what they did to her, to them, he couldn't think of putting it on her body. So he set it aside. The constellation meant nothing to him. The dragonfly felt too girly to stick to her skin. The triangle eye was too close to Erudite's symbol for him to feel different about it. He knew she was driving him to the birds- wanting him to pick one, add one. Then he remembered the exit wound above her heart; it passed close to the birds.

He reached out. She flinched a little, but he smiled in reassurance. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of her sweater, seeing the line right through the bottom bird. He let his finger trace it, the callouses audibly resonating as they passed over her skin. It had healed so well it was barely visible outside of the white line in the dark green of the ink.

"Is this what you want?" he asked. "To fix your brother's bird?" She nodded. "All you had to do was ask." He turned to Bud. "So, how does this thing work?"

He had a quick tutorial. With the lines already in place, he filled in over the scar so that she could look at herself and feel complete. She didn't even flinch at the sting of the needle or the slide of his hand on her sternum.

Four silently walked with her out of the facility. Again, no one stopped them or asked or pried, they just let them walk past, two people side by side. When the cold air whipped around them, he pulled his jacket up and tight over his exposed neck. She left her jacket open, sweater unbuttoned, and her collarbone unguarded. She wore the permanent smile of someone stuck in a moment of joy. He couldn't help but smile with her. They stood at the stop closest to Dauntless, the train several minutes away. She shivered, but that stubborn look was back on her face- she wouldn't cover up.

He was afraid to touch her, to reach out. To see her pull away from him would rip his heart. But being brave was never easy. He bit his lips together, brow furrowed and hoped. He pulled her sleeve so she'd have to face him, and wrapped his arm around her. When her arms snaked under his jacket, he relaxed in relief putting his lips to her forehead to hold her close and familiar.

She melted into him, her arms tucking up under his shirt onto his back, making him shiver. He held her the way she'd wanted to be held for months. She felt the pinch of his lips as they kissed her skin slowly and firmly, and everything came dripping out of her with relief and without sobs. He let her head drop to his shoulder resting his chin against her temple.

"I'm still mad at you," he whispered, into her ear; she stiffened. "But I'm too tired to fight with you. You exhaust me." He laughed a couple breaths and she relaxed. "What am I going to do with you?" He sounded amused and exasperated then kissed her temple again.

The train wheels squeaked as the hulking mass came to rest. He let her go just before she was out of time, then stood in the cold watching it pull away. Nothing had been decided, no one had won, and only a bird got fixed; but he felt calm thinking about her, the first time since Cara had approached him in the lobby.

He pounded on the door to Dauntless, Amar appearing at the other side.

"Can I get one of those, yet?" he pointed to the wrist bands.

"Depends, you coming back to Dauntless?" He nodded and Amar smiled broadly. "Step one: simulation," he warned. Four had his reasons to come back, but now he had his reason to stay.

"Better do it now before I lose my nerve."


	15. CH15: Split Perspective

**Many thanks to Milner for her beta-proofing. And to Hooda for helping me plot this one out. Reviews are very much appreciated.  
**

Four eyed the syringe on the table, the serum thick and heavy in a glass vial, waiting for him. He'd memorized the graduated scale to take a person from a short simulation up through their worst time on their landscape. He understood that the wires on the table projected brain function -both his fears and vitals- onto the computer that sat to the his left.

But, it had been more than two years since he'd been on this side of the examination. The truncated descriptions and blurry images were harder to interpret than his admissions to any initiate, but he also knew the simpler the fear, the easier the read. With Amar checking through a folder -flipping through the pages that describe his life- he hoped for the ambiguity of complexity and dreaded the keen eyes of his instructor.

Amar pushed his lips from one side to the other while he pilfered for information. He didn't have a reason to bother with the time sheets- Four's records read like a typo and weren't worth the time or concentration. Amar's focus was on the other sheets: the observations by leadership, the drill instructors before the war, the health center staff.

"Tobias Eaton," Amar stated, a surge of nostalgia coming over him with a smile. "Welcome to Dauntless. Jacket off." It was deja vu to a different time when Four wasn't able to control himself enough to hide and Amar's discomforting way of lightening the mood. It trudged up bad memories of the first time he faced Marcus.

"Just shoot me up, already," he growled, pulling on the sleeves, struggling to extract his hand.

"Well, well. You are on-hold for drills." He ignored him, finding the only number that had any influenced on the dose- his weight. "Thin-fuck of a stiff."

The simulation serum was one of the best tested and well documented serums- the safest by any standard. But if Amar was off by a lot, the excess would leave him drowsy and sick; but it had to be off by a lot. Four looked at the boney knobs of his wrists and the way his thighs barely filled his pants, deciding that he'd second guess himself, too, if the roles were reversed.

"I'll get it back," he dismissed, pushing up his shirt sleeves and leaning on his knee to stretch his back.

"It won't be easy." Amar loaded the syringe, pulling thick honey from one into another. Four steadied himself, gripping the edge of the chair. "Stay clear of the cake. You won't get points for fat," he suggested, extracting the needle to flick the air bubbles out. "Any idea what's in here for you?"

"If I get more than four, can we keep that between us?" He didn't have to admit it louder than a whisper- his only competition was the whirling fan on the CPU.

"You are required to repeat Stage 2 before you get a crack at the landscape. Gives you a chance to practice." Four almost suggested it gave them a chance to find the rest of the Divergent. "I've got the system set to one fear. You'll come out when I can tell you've faced it, or when you calm yourself down. Or if it times out, whichever comes first."

Four raised an eyebrow; the condescension he himself had imitated was hard to take when pantomimed back. The look put Amar back on his heels -straightening his posture and expression- before he continued with more formality.

"After three or four sessions, we'll do your landscape. Should be enough, right?" He explained, only this time it was like he was getting Four's permission. Four felt obligated to nod, not sure if it was for the change in affect or the terms of his injection. "Should be alright with six minutes, right?" Amar said to himself. He tapped the keyboard, set the failsafe, and watched Four press each out micro liter. "Good luck."

Four rolled his eyes. His record was six minutes thirty-one seconds for all four fears; his average time a little under seven. He analyzed Amar's face for a hint, not sure if he should feel slighted by the setting or accept that it was as good as any since the system wouldn't run without a time limit. Four expected to find himself at the top of the Hancock building, wavering in the wind and the building swaying back and forth. After that he would step up to the ledge, turn backwards, and fall into a shrinking box. Daily routines aren't forgotten in so little time.

But instead he was in a dark room, so silent he heard the whoosh of blood moving behind his ears after each thud of his heart. A display of weapons waited for him on a table. Having a choice of weapon was new. There were three guns, pieces separated and displayed. It annoyed Four to think of putting them together even if he could do it with his eyes closed. Three throwing knives leaned edges up on a sharpening stone, the filings still dusting the edges. Next to them a rusted, serrated hunting blade with a length of rope partially frayed and caught in the teeth. Stretched out above all of them, the limp, over tanned strap his father had torn from an old bag, worked soft by bending it between his hands and hung by the back door when he was gone.

He turned back to the guns: a Baretta 950, small, sleek and heavy, made with real metal and firing real bullets; an alloy Colver, smooth and shiny reflecting back what little light was in the room, the ferris-pack showing a half charge; and the standard, Dauntless issued Wal 322. His gun of choice was the Baretta. Each ounce of excessive heft a reminder that killing someone should never be light or plasticized. He'd much rather pick it up and shoot -get past it and be done- but that strap put him on edge.

While he was examining each option, he registered the lack of feeling in his legs. A disconnection between his thoughts and every nerve ending in his body all the way down to his toes. He had a sudden craving for the tangibles of his landscape- even the feel of sweat sliding down his spine was more welcome than the numbness.

Four was frozen, not just trapped. Every familiar sensation of confinement heightened by the inability to comprehend the openness around him. No solid surface remained to hold him firm. He gave into a moment of hysteria, thrashing his thoughts against nothing and racing towards no conclusion except hyperventilation. Hearing nothing. Feeling nothing. The sensation of oxygen over his tongue was the only grounding force. The isolation settled in and slivered away his concentration like the whittling edge of a knife.

Four pulled on himself, imagining the once haunting walls of the little closet, a place where he'd learned to calm down - the fastest path to the end. But the dread wasn't far away. His decision to turn came and passed without movement, threatening to push his mind past return and into the outer edges.

He anticipated Tris; that he'd have to watch her die. The suffocation of nothingness while he waited for her appearance was unbearable. Even if he couldn't see her, someone was coming; breathing the heavy breaths of a man and settling behind him, bringing relief to his sensory deprivation. The heavy heat finally radiated off of his nerve endings, then stepped into him, around him. Enveloped in the warmth of an outer shell, he sighed out his relief in the familiarity of being confined.

Warmth and breath gave way to the new sound of two heart beats, one layered slightly off of the other. And the rise and fall of the outer chest dictated each pull of air into his lungs, stifling him into an unnatural pattern that bruised his tissues. Adjusting to the discomfort was impossible. But finally, his eyes moved within the head of his host and he could take in more of what was around him.

One pair of hands. The hands of an office worker -a paper pusher- hovered out over the throwing knives. The scar across the back of the right familiar- Four had put it there when he was thirteen. He watched the hand move out and grip the leather strap, confirming he and Marcus had become one. He pushed against their feet, hurtling himself towards the ground, willing himself to tear out his father's back and out into nothing. He'd rather lose his mind than be controlled by his nightmare. But all his energy was wasted; his arms flexed with another's intentions.

When their body turned and focused into the darkness it was Tris who stood slumped, eyes lowered, dressed in the rough gray textiles of Abnegation. He focused on her face, placating, smooth; his evaluation interrupted by the fiery burn against his diaphragm and the feeling like he needed to destroy her, eliminate her. She held a small copper-skinned baby. It bore no resemblance to her, with curls in his hair and Four's hooked nose. He wasn't certain if he was curious or if Marcus was, but he wanted to step closer, see it. And the body moved around the table so that nothing stood between Marcus and Tris.

Even though it smiled like most babies, it was missing the pockets of fat on it's cheeks. The protruding ribs and sallow skin of neglect made Four feel sick before Marcus' pleasure could. While Tris' expression was somber, it was also accepting- a forgone conclusion knitted into her muscles. The child was smiling, cooing, reaching out towards her face with both of it's boney hands, catching the wisps of her hair. Four admired her, standing with his baby in her arms, allowing it to be a short lived awe.

They took a step, and he started to top out on feeling dread. Their hand squeezed around the supple strap. Their fingertips rubbed up the rough underside adjusting for grip. Another step. His feet were cold in their boots and his arch ached in his left shoe from a stone bruise. He tried to focus on the details to pull his heart out of the accelerating rhythm that collided with that of his fathers.

If he focused, a door would open behind her or an alarm would distract Marcus or a swarm of hornets could pour through the heavy shell of the serum and prevent the progress of each footstep. He even tried to focus on the movement in their shared chest, but it opened the feelings of his claustrophobia. Another step and the hand bent backwards past their ear stretching the pectoral muscles and a pull in his shoulder. Everything Marcus felt was seared through his body: disappointment, revulsion, stubborn, unrelenting resolve.

Without the manipulation, Four had nothing at his disposal. He couldn't will their body to stop. His eyes were fixed open. The influx of air into his lungs out of his control, compressed by the ribs and tissues outside of him. He tried to scream- his own throat scraped hoarse but nothing louder than the competing heartbeats reached his ears. He was stuck watching his fingers twitch as his left hand extended out to balance as a counter-lever. He willed his legs to move in the opposite direction, to at least let him run away or turn or not watch, but they advanced on the pair. Tris finally moved; backed up against the wall, small and scared, cradling and covering the child. The body -his body- turned and pulled up into a striking position steady and smooth, Tris turning to shield it with her body.

He heard it echo around him, drowning out his own thoughts in his head as he tried to call out for help. A quiet phrase appeared, dripping with the resigned disappointment that surrounded his childhood. "_Why am I always cleaning up after you?_"

He screamed to himself, one long yell blearing through his vocal cords, begging the simulation to change, to be manipulated by any other thought. The room went black. He jumped out of the chair, landing on his knees and slamming himself back into the wall of the simulation room. The sound of his scream finally pierced the air and echoed around the chamber. He shook from the inside of his stomach out to the fingertips scraping on the wall. He took in his surroundings and started to breath, to collect himself.

"Four." Amar was busy pressing buttons, but the tension in his voice was unmistakably aimed at both calming him and getting his attention. "That was complicated." His face skewed like he'd tasted acid. "What's up with the baby?" he asked quietly, like a parent or a best friend who knows the answer, but wants to be sure.

"What?" he asked, getting control of his breathing, but not registering the fullness of his senses. He'd never woken up like this before, winded and nearly sick. He'd never woken up unresolved. "Did you stop it?"  
"No, timed out," he stated, clearly prepared for Four to be uncomfortable with the fact that he hadn't completed the sim. "What's up with the baby?"

Amar put his hand out to try and stop his exit, make him talk, but he pushed past him roughly. Four walked the halls of Dauntless out to the chasm, to get lost in the rush of water. To get someplace louder than his thoughts.

Amar found him long after his legs had fallen asleep and gone numb. He'd pulled off the bundle of bandages, letting them fall into the water layer by layer. His hand was wanting for the compression, for more pain medication, but the throbbing distracted him. The pebbles tripping across the stone and over the edge announced Amar's arrival at the bottom of the slippery path. He hung his head, defeated.

"You know, Four. _Tobias_." He used his real name, taking a seat, dangling his legs. He stole a stare at the exposed hand, his first real look. "Life is a lot of things, but it's rarely kind."

"Yeah." He flexed his fingers and examined the scar, reluctantly holding it out to feed Amar's curiosity.

"How'd you lose your finger?" Amar asked, turning his wrist to look closer.

"Work accident," he commented, clearing his throat to cover any revealing flex in intonation.

"When you do the loyalty test, they'll ask," Amar warned.

"Might not."

"I'll ask." Four sighed, annoyed.

"What's done is done. It has nothing to do with coming back."

"What's done is between you and rejoining this faction," Amar scolded. "Do you have a kid back in Milwaukee? Or... on the way?" he corrected, subconsciously twitching out four fingers, one for each month. "Someone here?"

"That's what you're gonna pick on?" He let out a breathy chuckle. "No." He shook his head, but in truth he'd never mustered the courage to check if Matilda got caught before or after her appointment. Even though it wasn't probable that it was his, it didn't matter. No probability was small enough to remove the knot in his stomach.

Amar hesitated, then seemed to remember who he was talking too. "Other parts weren't as clear." Four nodded. "So, some sort of starved-inner-child thing?" Amar offered. "Represents your lack of a childhood, or something?"

"Or something." He nodded.

"You want to tell me what the hell the rest of it was about?" Amar looked at him, unresolved and concerned, but with Four staring straight down into the water, he wasn't going to get his answers.

"You know, in the landscape, you can't just wish it away. Think about your strategy. These types, where you're stuck watching, it's about taking control of your response. Like you in the box," he added, with sudden realization. "Why didn't you just manipulate it? Not like they don't know."

"Seemed like cheating," he lied, uneasy that each attempt he'd made had no result and wondering if he was just as damaged as the rest. Or maybe, he was out of practice. Too out of control to force his thoughts into actions. Amar used Four's shoulder to help himself stand, then pulled him up with him.

"What if I don't make it?"

"Let's practice some more before we cross that bridge," Amar said tentatively, letting thousands of gallons rush below them before breaking the silence. "Things seemed... quiet...with Tris," he selected, "But, she's in your fear."

"Yeah." His voice sounded dead, deflated.

"So?"

"I'm thinking on it." It was the pragmatic thing to say, but the corners of his mouth pulled up involuntarily. Then the throb in his fist twisted the smirk off his face.

"You're better with her," Amar admitted, holding back the rest of his criticism.

Four didn't want to think about her so close to nearly beating her. His brain was too small for both ideas to coexist. "How am I going to stay in Dauntless?" He rubbed at the soreness in the heel of his hand and the stiffness in his wrist form weeks of immobility.

"Luckily, you'll have help with that. I mean, you're my favorite project." Amar clapped him on the shoulder, pulling at his jacket to pry him up the path. "Wind sprints? Lunges? Bear crawls?" he encouraged.

"Pills and a change first," Four suggested instead, making the trip up to his apartment and wishing he had narcotics left. He accepted the consolation of headache tablets and swapped into softer shoes and cotton pants.

{}

The train stumbled to a jittery start, the wheels slipping on the slush swirling over the tracks. Tris compulsively looked over her shoulder. Four watched the train for a few seconds, scratching under the bandage on his hand, then turned back to Dauntless. He was so good at hiding, she couldn't decipher anything from his disconnected expression.

The persistent burn on her chest was enough to recall her back. She escaped into the memory of the scrape of his calloused hands and the warm breath that had glanced off her neck. It had made her ache enjoying the secret obscenity for the dozen or so minutes to her stop. Reluctantly, she buttoned up her coat to walk through the square and back to her apartment. If she used her imagination, the added warmth was a little like being held and heated by him. While she wanted to revel in it, to hug herself tightly and imagine her arms to be his, the further from the moment the more confused she became.

Not talking didn't solve anything. Did he hug her to call a truce? Was it a softening towards forgiveness? Did it mean he wanted her back? Consolation? She nearly walked past her door, analyzing so intently what it might have meant. She swore she remembered lips on her skin and reluctance when the train came to a halt. Or maybe it was just a fraction of a second for the pressure to slip from her shoulders and it only seemed to take longer. She was quick to convince herself that it could have been the press of the folds of her heavy jacket, not his hand on the back of her arm when she turned.

Why didn't she say anything?

Of course, he had said something, a mumble that filled caverns. She replayed it when she pressed the button to open, when she crossed the threshold, and then when she pressed the button to her floor. He was still mad. She'd be mad, if it was her. She'd be furious. She always had trouble letting go of a grudge; but, between them, Four was a professional. The compression in her chest pushed up a gag. His hug might have been to comfort himself, an alternative to yelling at her in his exhaustion. He was too tired to fight her, to fight for her. She had to admit, it wasn't his turn to fight.

He looked tired. While he'd always struck her as older, he looked worn out of his twenties before they even began. Removing the layers wasn't about cleaning him up or bringing him to a standard. He exposed himself to her and put himself on display. He wanted her to see exactly what she'd done. Him hollow inside and out was overwhelming to see.

Tris had to shake her fingers to get the strength back into them to steadily insert the key into the lock. It had been weeks since she'd been home this early. Johanna had insisted she wasn't required to come back to work, to take as long as she needed. Wise words. Tris' thoughts drifted for the remainder of the day. The logistics of the city couldn't run without focus. Besides, there were things to be done at home that didn't require her full attention.

Caleb, for all of his perfection growing up, was not the best home maker. At no other time in their new apartment had that been a problem. But Christina was a few hours away, a rare visit, and a special guest that deserved calm, clean, and clutter free surroundings. The two of them had amassed piles of papers, stacked and sorted into folders, but still spread across every flat surface; no observer would guess that either started life in the starkness of Abnegation. Rarely were books ever placed back on a shelf- they more likely to be layered on the tables with the best intentions to come back to them. And dust.

Being in a renovated building in a reclaimed area meant living amongst the construction and renovations of not only the neighboring structures but the floors above them. With that came soot, dust, and strange balls of fluff that wadded up in the corners and under the sofa after somehow sneaking under the door. Or lately, through the open windows. Sorting, stacking, sweeping, swiping, and spritzing were perfect background tasks when Tris really needed her mind to relax and subconsciously analyze.

"What do you want me to do?" Caleb asked. She'd only registered his homecoming when he dropped his keys in a clatter on the table.

"Um, I haven't done the bathroom. Can you make sure your whiskers are off the counter?" she asked, packing the last folder into a book bag.

"Okay." He filled the kettle, turned on the burner, and prepared to handle what ever came next- the real question that had brought him home slightly early.

"How'd your thing with Four go?"

"Okay." She paused, looking around for the next task.

"Just okay? Or actually okay?"

He intently analyzed her, waiting for a fissure to open up and swallow the apartment in a chaotic fit of sobs. But he found less raw emotion than calm reflection, surprising him.

"It was good. Alright, but confusing." She was interrupted by the knock on the door. "She's early!" she exclaimed, bounding to the door and sliding to a stop in her socks.

"Have you been soaking your apartment in chemicals because of me?" Christina mused, inhaling the deep scent of industrial clean.

Tris threw her arms around her -hurting her own shoulder slightly- and pulled her inside with a clumsy crash of the coat rack and displaced coats.

"I am so glad you're here."

"I just saw you." Christina chuckled and held her back, evaluated her. Gone were the doleful eyes of chemically-induced calm. The placidly medicated shell now vibrant and sweaty, smiling broadly. "You look much better." She tapped the gauze on her chest, peeling it back. "When did you get this fixed?"

"Um, today." She retracted a little, pressing the gauze down. "Four did it." She watched the surprise coat her friend's face.

"Stop," Christina commanded. "Let me put my stuff down and it's story time." She flicked off her shoes and rushed to place her bag in the bedroom before landing on the couch, Tris' hands clutched in hers.

Caleb delivered the tea and pulled up a chair to listen while Tris talked through the basics of her day. He winced protectively when Christina started to drag the details out, at the same time taking note on her method. She was systematically straight forward, and alternated frankness with humor, splashing her own insights in to work out the truth. He knew the humor was out of his league, but she was a very effective interrogator.

"And he hugged me." Tris shrugged, looking up for the first time since she started. All the doubtful thoughts edged back into the forefront.

"Like a pat on the back?"

"No, like, he - sort of held me." She bit her lip, glancing nervously at Caleb.

"And?"

"And I think he kissed my forehead."

"You think? Like you're not sure?"

"I guess not."

Christina nodded gravely. "Localized paralysis." She delivered it like a diagnosis, Caleb chuckled when he heard it.

"What?"

"If your forehead can't tell when lips like that come in contact with it, it must be because you have localized paralysis!"

Tris laughed, forgetting for a moment to be reserved. "Okay, so he kissed me."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," she groaned. "I didn't say anything!"

"What did he say?"

"That he's mad at me, but he's tired of fighting."

"That's not likely. You'd be the first one to ever tire Four out." Tris rolled her eyes. "Or should I say, 'again'?" she added to make her blush.

"Shut it." Tris squirmed with a smirk.

"I knew it," Christina declared, then pursued like a cat on a mouse. "Was it good?"

"Oh, God." Caleb crinkled in disgust and took the tea pot back to the kitchen for more water. "Save it for later," he moaned.

"I can't ask her later, we're sharing a bed!" Christina responded. "The mere memory of that man-beast might drive her straight past crazy, and I'd rather sleep un-molested."

Tris smacked her leg. "Knock it off. I've told my story, what's up with you? I feel like I barely talked to you in the last few months." Christina decided to let it drop.

"I have my own man-beast to tame." She grinned. "Have you met that Bureau-boy Four brought back? Rafael?"

"I don't think so. Maybe. He had someone with him when he came to my office."

"Let me tell you, that boy may have a three month memory, but I've never been so convinced that all the skills got left behind."

"Ew." Tris choked on her tea.

"So, I've got to get me some of that while I'm here."

"I thought you were visiting your family?"

"And friends," she defended. "Besides, I'm only on the hook for my sister's birthday. The rest of the time I'm checking things out. They call it a vacation."

"What do you mean?" Tris jumped to a conclusion, excitedly biting her lip and sitting up in anticipation.

"Well, with you back here -apparently feeling human again- this Rafael guy and my family, I'm thinking the Bureau is unnecessarily lonely," Christina admitted.

"Really? You think you'll come back?" Tris sat up straighter. "Like seriously? We could do this all the time?"

"The idea's growing on me," she confirmed.

"To Candor or to Dauntless?" Caleb asked.

Christina shot him an unwelcoming glance, like she'd forgotten he was a rooms width away. "I haven't made up my mind," then changed her tune. "So, Amar is having Sunday dinner- I guess George is supposed to be back from the fence. I have arranged for an invitation." She paused, switching cold, "Sorry Caleb, Dauntless only."

"Fine by me." He didn't know if he'd ever be able to walk those halls without being afraid for his life.

"I don't know. Is Four going to be there?" Tris wiped her palms on her pants.

Christina took her hand gently, and examined the torn cuticles. "He hugged you. He said he was tired of fighting. Don't let him rest up," she encouraged. "Besides, I promised Amar I'd bring you."

"Why would Amar want to see me?"

"The same reason I do. You're a peach of a person."

"Okay, but if it's too awkward or something, we have to leave and you have to come with me."

"But, Rafael," she protested.

"But nothing. We go together, we leave together." Christina weighed the options like it pained her. "Together?"

"Okay. Fine," Christina relented.

"When is it?"

"Sunday dinner is still on Sunday," she nodded with a sarcastic grin.

"That's days away," Tris contemplated.

"You can't chicken out. No accidental meetings or things you forgot," she said, adding, "Just relax, don't think another thought about anything. Well, other than what type of sexy ensemble you've got hidden in that shamble of a closet." She received a hearty smack.


	16. CH16: Dinner Party

**Many thanks to Milner for her beta-proofing. Reviews are very much appreciated.  
**

Tris reported into Johanna the following morning as scheduled- Johanna was running behind. The warm humidity of her office made Tris drowsy and tempted her to lean over and rest on a pillow for just a minute. A receptionist or assistant -whose name she'd forgotten five times- brought her a warm cup of tea to wake her up while she waited. She didn't know why, but her stomach was in knots. Johanna had an intensity that spun her up more often than put her at ease.

"I am so sorry, Tris. Good morning." She didn't make an excuse when she swept into the room and knelt across from her.

"Good morning," she murmured, watching her get situated and composing her skirt to cover her legs.

"Well, is there going to be a problem between you and Four?" She jumped straight to the point, putting Tris off balance.

"No, I don't think so." Tris smiled momentarily.

"Good. It's very important that the logistics of the city be available to everyone." She nodded curtly. "What did you choose to do?"

Tris stumbled, caught off guard. "Oh. Umm…he asked me to cut his hair, and I asked him to repair a tattoo," she stated cleanly, the ridiculousness of their chosen activities rubbing her nerves.

"Hmm," Johanna mused, keeping what ever thought she had tucked behind her sealed lips. "And what did you learn from the experience?"

"I guess, I didn't realize how hard things were for him," she commented. "I kind of thought he could take care of himself a little better."

"You don't think he tried?" Tris regretted not being more guarded. Explaining wasn't high on her list.

"I mean, he's so thin. And his hand," she stammered unfairly, assigning the blame for the way he treated her to some mythical hardship rather than her singular rejection.

"According to the reports, he got off light compared to some," Johanna stated.

"What do you mean?" She quirked an eyebrow, and shifted uncomfortably.

Johanna looked confused. "Well, that flu, it killed almost half of the winter workers in Milwaukee, Forty percent, or at least as far as they know. It's why we've started developing vaccines here. I figured your brother would have mentioned something."

Caleb only ever spoke generally about his work. Even though they lived together and he cared for her, it didn't mean they were closer than when they grew up. They could go days without saying something beyond the polite mumblings when they collided in common areas.

Johanna continued, "We can't afford an epidemic like that coming here. Something like a thousand starved to death. And the crime rate up there is very high. Someone like Four is unlikely to stay out of it." She sipped her tea. "Between you and me, I think coming back is quite the achievement."

"Forty percent?" The word sounded bigger, more solid, rounder, coming out of her own mouth. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"Well, I'm not certain where I saw it, if it was in the local paper or just the Government sheet from the Bureau." Johanna shrugged.

"I'm glad that you and Four have come to an understanding." Johanna stood and straightened her top, glancing at her watch. "I would like to see more of you. Feel free to come distract me more often." She held up her hand when Tris started to shift. "Take your time, finish your tea," but Tris could tell it was an empty attempt at politeness, and she didn't want to stay in that warm room any longer.

Four was approaching the receptionist as Tris stepped out. He held her gaze, letting a soft smile turn the edges of his lips when he passed through for his meeting. Tris was too focused on the small, kind gesture to notice the apprehension in his eyes- the stiff contortion of his body that let her pass without colliding. Passing with just a few inches between them, she was stuck on the depressions under his cheek bones, made deeper by a fresh shave.

She reached into her bag for something to numb her, pausing to dry swallow a tablet. She was once again steady when she found the hand written ledger for the next factionless delivery on her desk. All her hopes were erased by the ease in which he avoided her.

{}

"What about this?" Christina held up a dark gray shirt with lime green piping around the collar and the hems.

"Yeah, sure." It's the only response Tris gave for the whole hour they'd cycled through the stores. Christina insisted on finding something new for both of them, the fashions in the Bureau too utilitarian for her tastes.

"Okay, this is absolutely hideous," Christina corrected. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she lied, thumbing a few hangers.

"Something."

"How much did you talk to Tobias, while he was in Milwaukee?" she finally asked.

"We exchanged a few letters." She shrugged.

"Did he ever mention how bad it was?"

"Not directly." Christina busied herself with another rack.

"Indirectly?" Tris followed. Christina sighed.

"Look, I'm your friend, first and foremost, but this feels like an invasion of his privacy."

"Oh, sorry." She dropped her face to look at the sleeve of a bad dress.

"Why are you asking?"

"Something Johanna said, about how lucky he is he survived." Her lip trembled, and she busied herself sorting the shirts in front of her by color.

"Is that what has you all drugged up?" Christina asked. Tris turned red, embarrassed that she could tell even though she'd only taken a quarter of a dose. "It's pretty obvious when you've killed off your nerve endings."

"I just feel responsible."

"You shouldn't. Not for all of it. You can't blame yourself for everything that happened."

"What is everything, though? I mean, he's thin. He was obviously sick at some point. And he's lost a finger. How did that happen?" She paused. "The way he looked at me, the way he's spoken to me since he's gotten back." She shook her head with a deep breath to try and keep her guard up. "He hates me."

"Yeah, he's a poster-boy for tough times, but you didn't get him sick and you didn't take his finger off. He was probably just venting some anger at you, he doesn't hate you."

"If I had just listened to you, or talked to you more about it," she said wistfully.

"But you didn't and things happened. To _both_ of you. But you can't change it." She held up another swath of dark blue. "All you can do is move forward, show him what he's missing."

Tris questioned why the long shirt in Christina's hands was in the dress section, then realized it was intended to be short.

"I don't want to be ogled," Tris dismissed, putting the item back on the rack, her face heating up immediately.

"Then don't be." Christina rolled her eyes. "But, guys don't think first, they look first. You have to get him looking, then you can get him thinking. And then show him that you're still what he wants."

Her face was getting redder.

"Mind out of the gutter," Christina chuckled. "I mean - if he wants adventure, you be adventurous. He climbs up a building, you follow him. He snarls at a baby, you do too."

"He doesn't snarl at babies," she defended before considering the rest. "Are you sure he's going back to Dauntless?"

"Yeah. He's already started their re-initiation process." She looked at her, surprised. "You didn't know?"

"I guess I knew he was staying there, but before he left, he wasn't exactly a fan of the system."

"Guess he's changed his mind. Amar said he started back the day I got here." She put a few items over her arm.

"This is a bad idea." Tris pushed away Christina's selection, and crossed her arms.

"What?"

"If he hugs me in the morning and joins a faction in the evening, that doesn't sound like opening a door." She sighed. "Faction before blood - it still means something. It especially means something to Dauntless."

"Yeah, but does it mean something to him? Besides, he wants to be Dauntless, you can be Dauntless, too." She held up another dress. "This one, you have to try on." Christina pushed her in the direction of the changing room, mid protest.

Christina's coercion ended quickly in Tris' agreement and submission to be styled, although only slightly. It had been months since she'd put on make up and a life time since wearing a dress,but being pampered and looked after was comforting and decadent.

She relished in the attention. Christina combed through her hair while sharing horrible sex stories with a glee that made Tris wonder if she was embarrassed by anything. But it felt good to giggle, and it was a better education than she'd get from a book. Christina wasn't so bold when they were face to face-while she painted her nails and dabbed her cheeks with a little blush. She kept those stories more to how dates had gone horribly wrong.

Tris eyed her shoulder in her reflection; the new dress left half of the red, healing scars exposed. Christina saw the turmoil on her face, the threat of crying so close the whole night teetering on one reflection.

"Here." Christina quickly popped open her bag, pulled out a thin cotton sweater, and passed it to her. "In case it's cold in the apartment." She watched relief come across her face. "It's probably too warm for one of your heavier sweaters." She smiled, giving her just the excuse to smile back.

{}

Christina sweet-talked the man on duty at the Dauntless entrance.

"We're here to see Amar. We're living outside the compound, but we're Dauntless. Tris is organizing the logistics for the April delivery and he asked that she come by."

"What are you doing here, then?" He zeroed in on her.

"Oh. She's the pretty face and I'm the muscle, in case any of the factionless give us trouble." She looked him over "Maybe next time we'll hire you."

"Seems like two pretty faces." He took the bait.

"Can't I be both?" she challenged. "So how about it? You going to give him a call or let us walk ourselves up? Or, you could give us an escort?" She bit her lip. Tris stood there, trying not to show too much of any emotion and especially trying not to laugh. The entire exchange was for Christina's amusement- she liked to practice her skills when ever she could.

"Alright, but I'll check with Amar about it later," he warned. Some how Tris doubted he'd say anything.

"Shouldn't we have a signal?" Tris asked, following Christina up the corridor.

"A what?"

"You know, so you know when I want to leave. Like I pull out more lip gloss or something?"

"What if you're just touching up?"

"Or maybe I click my tongue four times."

"What if I only hear three?"

"I don't know. How do I get out of there?" she whined.

"You don't. You'll be brave and polite," Christina sternly warned. "Suck it up, it's only dinner and it will end. You're here for the night so try to enjoy it." She knocked lightly.

Four was the one to open the door, fully in a conversation with Amar and, by the stammer and stare, not expecting either one of them. He took the hug from Christina mechanically, putting an arm across her back, and stiffly rotated so that Tris could pass by, examining her bare legs while her back was turned. He caught her shoulders as she peeled her coat off so he could hang it up.

"I didn't realize you were coming." He whispered it like an apology in her ear, alcohol fumes on her neck. A warm fuzz spread over her and then flushed her face. His hand pushed her into the room with a gentle pressure on her lower back but withdrew quickly.

Four was visibly uncomfortable for the first ten minutes, like he might be sick every time he glanced in her direction. He managed to adopt an attentive silent affect while sternly listening to a side conversation between Lauren and George. When their attention came back to the larger group, he continued to present a concerned focus on every face but hers. Tris saw him chuck back a shot of something clear at George's smirking insistence. Tris could tell he was carefully controlling each movement; no human could sit in that crunched up position so long without needing to stretch their arms.

She was unsettled by how uncomfortable they could make each other when they failed to ignore that the other existed. Once, she caught him gazing at dust a foot in front of himself for nearly a minute, off on some other planet and dazed when Lauren's elbow brought him back. Eventually, he repositioned himself so he was to her side rather than across, partially obscured. After he moved, the glances she caught were more animated, engaged.

Amar pulled two full chickens out of the oven and onto the small stove. Lauren was right next to him, ready with plates and a carving knife. She gave Tris a quick once over and a small nod of approval. With Lauren stationed at Four's side all night, they hadn't even said hello, but the acknowledgment confirmed that it wasn't anything personal between them. Tris rightly assumed it had more to do with Four.

"See, you're supposed to be here," Christina commented, pulling a chair over from a small desk in the corner. "Just enough chairs."

Dinner went quickly and quietly at first, each hungry individual too engrossed in their meal to talk. As the plates emptied, the banter started back and forth.

Eventually Amar deposited a bottle of cloudy yellow liquid on the table and declared, "Never have I ever…laughed so hard I peed." Tris watched long strings of yellow bob up and down- she couldn't help but feel queasy.

Tris followed the pour into cups and traced Amar's through the air as it clinked with Lauren's and she took a drink. "Bring a change of pants tonight?" se asked, and she rolled her eyes a little pink.

Then Lauren clearly stated, "Never have I ever been so drunk I couldn't remember."

Four, Amar, Rafael and George took hold of their cups, Four looked pained and hesitated, but tossed it back.

"Never have I ever… fallen asleep on the job," Amar stated, challenging Four directly. Four shrugged and shook his head. George and Lauren both put their cups out and Christina, too.

"I'm so ashamed of you." Amar shook his head at Lauren, teasing.

"Wait what's the rules?" Tris was putting it together.

"Haven't you played?" Christina asked, choking a little. Tris shook her head. "If anyone says something and you have done it, you have to take a drink." Then she added, "Never have I ever lied to get out of a social event." She dared her, and Tris and Four both took a drink, and so did George.

Tris tested the liquor with the tip of her tongue before committing to a mouthful. It was sweet and lightly lemon, not harsh or heavy. She slung it back expecting it to sting her throat, but found it dried her tongue instead.

"I see how it is." Rafael looked at Four, faking how despondent he was.

"Never have I ever blamed a fart on a date," Lauren stated pointedly.

"Seriously, it was you," Four defended, the first words Tris had heard him speak since coming in the door. He glanced at Tris, pink cheeked, and took a drink without further protest.

"Never have I ever eaten bugs." Four stared at Rafael directly, and watched him nervously glance at Christina before drinking.

"Never have I ever… left the city," Lauren stated smugly, watching all of them drink.

"Too easy," Amar complained.

"What about you Tris?" Christina prodded.

"Oh, um. I don't know." She blushed at being on the spot. "Never have I ever….vandalized something." She looked around uneasy.

Four, Christina and Lauren all drank.

"Never have I ever fucked on the first date." Lauren eyed Christina, who was oblivious to the competitive glint in the gaze.

"Got me." Amar took a drink and so did Christina, her cup colliding with Rafael's as they exchanged a flirtatious smile.

"Never have I ever had sex in public," George stated.

"Do alleys count?" Rafael asked, looking immediately at Four.

"Corner of the bar does." Four made the others laugh with the slight disgust and embarrassment on his face.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Never have I snuck around to get laid," he leveled directly at Four, who sucked his teeth and contemplated, then decided on honesty and drank. Tris immediately quirked her head and tried to decide if their night in the Bureau counted as sneaking, but the question was gone before she decided. The pity coming from Christina was palpable and, Tris thought, unwarranted.

"Never have I fucked a friend," Lauren stated, none of them drank.

Amar looked confused, bouncing a glance back and forth between her and Four, then decided on a question.

"Never have I ever slept with a virgin." Amar smiled brightly, eager to tease apart some question in his mind. Four and Tris exchanged looks, both prickling red and stiff.

Four got up and mumbled, "Don't be a dick," on his way over to the kitchen with a stack of plates. Tris set her cup down and looked after him, emboldened by the alcohol. The others lingered, waiting for a moment then laughed at a quiet statement from George and forgot the question.

"Never have I ever had to speak in public," Christina chimed in, toning it back down and started to fill the empty cups.

Tris pushed away from the table and stepped into the kitchen. He glanced at her, then instantly away, turning to run the water to start the dishes. Tris collected the rest of the plates, then set them on the counter, taking up a familiar position on his right.

While Amar kept the conversation going, all of them stole glances at the pair so close together, quietly washing and drying. Tris watched as Four furiously scrubbed each dish at first, then slowly settled into a gentle rhythm. He got control of himself and gave her a half smile when he handed her the last plate and started to pick in the basin for silverware. She nudged him with her elbow and didn't miss the smirk he attempted to conceal. It occurred to her, this was abnegation flirting.

Tris dried the last plate, Four watching her, thoughtful and quiet. "Thank you for helping." He gave her a small, quick smile.

"You're welcome."

"Oh no!" Christina exclaimed, breaking Four's concentrated study of her face. "The train's almost here."

"You don't have to go, do you?" Rafael asked quickly. Lauren rolled her eyes, her posture dismissive.

"Unfortunately, Tris doesn't want to walk home alone." She cast a pouting stare. Tris could tell she was drunk from the sloppy waver of her torso in her seat.

"Four, could you go with her?" Rafael suggested with a quirk of his eyebrow. Tris glanced up at him. His face panicked for a second, then turned questioning, before finally relaxing to a nodding sign of obligation.

"It's fine," Tris said, quickly. "I'll be fine." She glared at Christina. "Thank you for dinner."

She tried to push aside her anger towards Christina; her chest tight, suddenly emotional. She stepped up to the door, turning to find her shoes and saw Four pulling on his. "I'm fine."

"I know you are," he stated, sounding more dutiful than complimentary, and continued to tie his laces. She wasn't stupid enough to stop him, wondering if he wanted time with her as much as she did with him.

She stepped out into the hallway. "You really don't have to come with me."

"I sort of do," he laughed a little. "Rafael is staying with me."

"And?"

"Where do you think he and Christina are going?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I was trying not to," she blushed. "I'm sorry, Christina promised she wouldn't do this."

"It's okay. We're supposed to try and get along, right? I need more practice than most," he suggested.

"Right." Her frame deflated in resignation to the uncomfortable trip into the city.

"So, I will make sure you make it back to your apartment while our friends bump uglies on my bed. In the meantime, I'll be thinking of the best ways to burn sheets." He popped the door to the back street. Tris wondered when he started talking so flippantly about sex.

"Uh, Four," she stopped him, "I'm not...I'm not strong enough to pull myself up." She hated admitting it. Hated it even worse when he let out a huff she was certain was disappointment.

"Right. Shoulder." He held the door and instead lead her out the side entrance so they could walk to the first stop. It was a similar silent walk like the other day, his hands tucked into his pockets, her shoulder occasionally bumping into his. He stood, leaning against a lamp post just off the platform, rubbing the tired out of his eyes.

"I can go it alone, from here. It's not like there won't be people in the city."

"Stop it. You wanted someone to walk home with you. I know I'm a poor substitute for Christina, but I think I can handle it." She wasn't expecting the raw edge in his comment or the frustration on his tongue.

"Actually, I really like that it's you." She tried a smile, but he held his expression. "Should I keep saying I'm sorry?" she asked, letting her frustration into her voice.

"Feel free." He turned and tried to make out if the rumble he heard was the train or his imagination while he checked his watch.

"Is your hand better?" She tried.

"Can't re-grow fingers Tris," he spat, then collected himself. He wasn't joking about practicing being civil. His patience was spent and his mind too tired to be diplomatic. His tone flooded her with guilt and anxiety. "It hurts a lot less, but there's times when it's like it just happened," he admitted, rubbing his palm.

"Sorry, I asked."

"Always sorry," he murmured in a way she knew he didn't think she could hear, so she kept quiet.

Determined to make use of the boldness of her slight intoxication, she took a deep breath and started communicating. "Why did you hug me, the other day?"

He looked at her -the longest sustained look of the night- like she was off in the distance. Like she was a fact of the landscape and not a person right in front of him, and ignored her question. He didn't break his glance until the train was at a stop and they both had to move. He surprised her by sitting on the little bench instead of standing like most Dauntless do. But the sag in his shoulders and the stiffness in his core told her he was sore, tired.

"Why did Amar's question bother you so much?" she tried again.

"None of his business." He shrugged. "He's been nosy all week."

"Is he running re-initiation?" He nodded, rubbing his face in his hands and holding his head in one hand, swaying with the motion of the train.

"Is it hard?"

"You thinking of coming back?" He didn't betray anything in his expression, just a question.

"Just making small talk." She played with the buttons on her coat, debating on giving up or lashing out.

"Don't bother, I don't find silence impolite," he suggested, picking at a thread coming loose in the knee of his pants.

"Four, I'm trying here. I'm really trying. I need you to talk to me."

He rolled his eyes and took aim. "I don't need anything from you, Tris. You have your life, I have mine. Where they intersect, we have to make due."

"You don't want anything more?" She was on the edge of tears.

Again he ignored her, lost in thought, but he couldn't keep his glance on the thread between his fingers and his chest hurt when the tears came up on the rim of her eyes. He had to look away. He thought for a moment that he wanted her to cry, but it was a lie. He reached out his hand, asking for hers.

She took it, fast, snatching her fingers between his and sitting next to him, feeling his warm digits play with hers. "This is confusing." She sighed, unable to keep a droplet from rolling down her cheek.

He squeezed her hand and leaned his head back against the window. "This is exhausting." He held her hand all the way back to her building where he paused and finally dropped her fingers.

"This place?" He looked up, disbelieving. He expected a factionless camp or a room of cots.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "You want to come in?"

"No," he said quickly, checking his watch. "I have a long walk."

"You can stay on the couch," she offered.

"No, I can't." He gave her a tight lipped smile. "See you around, Tris." He turned and started the trek back towards Dauntless.

Caleb was in his room reading by lamp light, but he closed his book and came to check on her. She was shuffling a pill out of a bottle in the bathroom, staring gravely into the mirror.

"Have fun?" he asked dryly.

"It was okay." She was struggling. He took the bottle from her and pulled a single tablet out, setting it in her palm.

"Bad-okay?"

"No. Bearable-okay." She paused, "Four walked me home."

"That's good, right?"

"Because he felt like he had to." She paused and looked at Caleb. "I really messed up." She cried and leaned her forehead against Caleb's shoulder.

{}

Christina stumbled into Tris' office with a peace offering of hot baked pasta and fresh baked bread for lunch. She paused for a second -the stony glare putting her back on her heels- but Tris waved her in with a forgiving smile.

"Better have been worth it," she grumbled.

"It was like a religious experience," she confirmed. "I had no idea how wrong all the guys I've ever been with were. I mean, he did this thing with his tongue, pressed it -"

"Stop." Tris laughed. "One, this is not appropriate for a work place conversation. Two, just don't."

"Suit yourself, I'll tell you later," she winked. "How'd the walk home go?"

"I don't know." She sighed, while Christina unpacked the box with two pieces of casserole and handed her a fork.

"Replay it."

"He kept to himself, pretty quiet. I tried to start a conversation a couple times, but he wasn't really into it. But he did hold my hand almost the whole way," she said, hopeful. "I mean, should I read into that?"

"Yes." Christina paused. "I mean, you stiffs take that seriously, right?"

"Dauntless don't."

"Let's not pretend either of you are hundred-percent Dauntless," she leveled. "See, keep him occupied. The fight's been knocked out of him. Just be persistent about seeing him and that crack will split wide open." She paused, "Just remember, you've left him twice. He's going to be hesitant." She took a few large bites, contemplating her next statement.

"Rafael says he's pretty protective of you, still. Won't let anyone say anything against you. Guess he got in a fight with Lauren over it."

"Really?"

"Hearsay. And he wanted in my pants." She smirked to lighten the mood. "Pants like these, and they'll say almost anything."

"So is this a just-for-fun?" Tris asked.

"I don't know. I guess that depends on him." She shrugged. "He mentioned that he's going to Amity to help with the planting or something, and then he's going to take the aptitude test." She paused. "So there's that." She sighed.

"He's Bureau, did you dig up any dirt, maybe a hint on where he'll land?" Tris asked then added with a scoff. "The Dauntless are the only ones really holding to the boundaries."

"I don't think Rafael was his real name. I tried to look him up, you know, see who I was dealing with, but I didn't find a Rafael his age in the system. It was weird."

"And what about you?" Tris asked. "Any of this convince you to come back?"

"Yeah, I think so." She paused, "My mom actually kind of begged me to."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I guess she's rethought some things, worries for me out there more than in the city. She still doesn't approve of Dauntless, but she says she understands better."

"That's good. But you don't have to go back to Dauntless. There are other options."

"You forget, I'm Dauntless, one-hundred-percent. No alternate aptitude or weird genetic thing," she pointed out. "There's really only one place for me. Have you been back, much? Might be the place for you, too."

"Just the tattoo and dinner. They send Amar with their ration slips. I think they want to keep outsiders out, as much as possible."

"I mean, would you ever go back?" Christina looked at her, excited and tentative.

"Probably not." Tris shrugged. "My shoulder's got more technology in it than a computer, but it doesn't make it strong. I can barely even think about holding a gun, I still get flashbacks. And besides, I have my job, my research. I doubt the citizens are all that interested in being interviewed by a Dauntless soldier."

"Well, regardless, _I_ want to see you more often," Christina confirmed.

"You won't be able to avoid me."

"So, Four. What's your next move?"

"I think it's time we talked." She knew it was easy to say, but dreaded how hard it might be to actually do. "Like, used our words, stop avoiding it. These mixed signals are killing me."

"Just fuck him." Christina suggested, "When you're done, cuddle up and hash it out."

"Yeah, no." Tris blushed.

"Seriously, it's not that hard." Christina sat back, feeling satisfied and full.

"I'm on my way out. Train to Amity leaves at three."

"When you coming back?"

"Need a couple weeks. Mind if I crash back at your place when I come in?"

"Sure." She paused. "Next time, would you mind if I tied your hands up? You're a little… friendly at night."

Christina laughed. "Okay, but my safe-word is blueberries."


	17. Chapter 17: Honesty

**Editing compassionately provided by Milner... go give a readE**

Amar caught Four sleeping — really, it was more reasonable to say 'passed out' — on a mat in the training room. By the smell of him, he'd been punishing himself most of the night. The sweat had dried his clothes in stiff folds. His arm were contorted up over his eyes exposing the bottom edge of the flames on his ribs. Four was no longer the careful, contrived initiate Amar had trained, nor the soldier he'd mentored. Amar winced with guilt when he tapped Four with his foot and watched him snap awake, mad-eyed and thrashing in defense.

"Four, knock it off," he chastised, bringing his focus around to him.

"What?" He gathered in his location and squinted, looking up towards the lamps on the ceiling. He wanted another few hours of sleep, even if it was out in the open.

"Come on, Harrison and Fiona want to see you." He started walking away. "Shower, get to the landscape room in an hour."

Four's stomach cramped in knots so tight he had trouble standing up. He'd only been through a handful of simulations, each a failure by any stretch. He'd started doubting if he'd get through his landscape at all.

The sting he felt as the water carried the salt from his skin into his eyes punctuated his already irritable attitude. He'd never been unprepared before. His own lectures to initiates came back to taunt him as he contemplated his landscape. It wasn't easy to forget how many times he said to trust in the practice, to strategize, to stick with it. He wanted to quit.

He muttered and grunted to the shower walls, the mirror, the closet door, the apples on the kitchen table and the shoes at the door. He continued bantering out the protest he planned to wage while he pushed the leather through the loops of his pants. By the time he adjusted his coat sleeves, he found his argument to be convincing. Even though it felt like whining, it wasn't fair to speed up the process.

* * *

Amar was waiting for Four at the top of the stairs and walked next to him, guarding him up to the door.

Harrison and Fiona were there, leaning against the wall behind a row of five chairs that faced a single one. A small table with a glass, a pitcher of water, and a syringe divided them. This was no ordinary landscape- having furniture in the room was dangerous.

"You're early," Amar commented, glancing at his watch.

"What's going on?"

"Loyalty check, has to be done inside of a month. We'll come back to simulations, if you pass." Four stopped— truth serum had a distinct blue glow to it, different in how it reflected light in comparison to the simulation serum. "Come on. Now, or you're out. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, on-your-ass out."

Aside for the gibberish about passing go, the meaning was clear. He wasn't being asked to join, he was being dared to leave. It was another test, another opportunity to show how brave he could be. What he didn't see were the pleading and anxious stares from the leadership as they watched him contemplate entering the room.

"What are they going to ask?" He started to form a list in his head, what he'd be willing to quit over. It was important to reaffirm that line, even if the list wasn't long.

"Sit down, find out," Amar challenged, waiting at the open door.

"Sit, Four." Fiona offered him the chair. "The process is simple, we have a conversation then we have it again." She tapped the syringe.

"Why not just do it once? Why not just the serum? It'll tell you anything you want to know."

"It's shameful to lie, and we want to see what your ashamed of." Fiona raised an eyebrow.

"You think I'll lie?"

"Will you?" Harrison asked, a hardness in him that was unusual in their past relationship.

Four pulled off his jacket, hung it across the back of the chair and sat. He also bunched his sleeves up to his elbows and crossed his arms — better to look defiant than scared. He thought the chill of the room might give him a chance to beat the simulation — if he needed to — like Tris could.

Harrison started. "Why do you want to re-join Dauntless?"

"I want to stay in Chicago. I know I can help make Dauntless better, what it should be."

"What should it be?"

"Dauntless should provide the security to the city, the police, the soldiers. I could repeat the whole manifesto…" he offered. Fiona shook her head. "I think if we measure up to it, Dauntless is where I'd like to be."

Fiona was next. "Your work with the Factionless. Are you thinking of joining them?" She said 'factionless' like she was tasting something bitter. Four found it insulting.

"No."

"Why not?" Harrison followed, Fiona looking annoyed.

"It's a hard way to live."

"You think Dauntless is easy?" Harrison challenged. Fiona eyed Harrison nervously, biding her time to take her turn back, but Harrison delivered a series too rapid for her to interrupt.

"No, I just prefer it." Four let out a long breath, making sure Harrison knew he was put off.

"Are they planning to take over the government?"

"I wouldn't know. I stick to my job, that's it."

"What do you _do_ with them?"

"I talk to them. I help them organize. I hold them to their decisions. I give them structure. I make them play nice with the rest of the council."

"What keeps them from killing you?"

Four rolled his eyes and refused to answer, and Harrison made a mark on a sheet of paper Four hadn't noticed before. Four surmised it was a list of questions he'd get asked again under the serum.

"What is your relationship with Johanna?" Fiona asked while Harrison scanned the list, refreshing himself.

"Friendly." Four smiled smugly.

"Do you support her position that the factions dissolve over time?"

"Only if the people choose it." A statement like that just a few months ago would have landed him at the bottom of the chasm. Harrison's nostrils flared.

"Your time at the Bureau," Harrison started but faltered, stopping to rephrase like the text on the sheet wasn't a real statement. "How do you feel about the Bureau?"

Fiona shuffled from one foot to the other, patiently waiting, but obviously not interested in Harrison's concerns.

"They're fucked up." Four cast a squeamish glance at Amar. "About as much as we are in here. We should keep them at arm's length."

Fiona glanced at Harrison, almost like she was asking permission, then continued on the script.

"Why did you conceal your name from your faction?" Harrison stepped back against the wall to assume his role as listener.

"I didn't. My paperwork's pretty clear." He fully meant to sound snotty— if they were going to play Candor, he'd play it literally. It set something off in Harrison, who took to a barraging attack. Fiona shrank back against the wall.

"Why didn't you tell any of the members?"

"I didn't want to be judged because of my father and his faction."

"What _is_ your relationship with your father?"

"I don't have one."

Four cracked his knuckles and then pushed his drooping sleeves back up to his elbows; the room was feeling warmer with each question. The expression on his face made Fiona nervous, but she didn't stop Harrison from continuing. She kept her face surprisingly neutral. She reminded Four of the Candors and he wondered if she transferred.

"If he came to you, would you help him?"

Four took a deep breath, his eyes rolling a little in the back of his head as he thought it over. "No."

"What about your mother?"

"I don't trust her."

"But you'd help her?"

"It would depend on what she was asking for, but probably not."

Four swallowed and his knee started to jump. He just wanted to move, to stand and pace. He could tell something was coming before Harrison had it out of his mouth. Fiona was rigid and looking at him with concern; Amar was looking anywhere but at any of them.

"What's your relationship with Tris Prior?" Harrison asked. Amar couldn't contain his groan.

Some agreement had been breached; Four recognized the disappointed, admonishing glances directed at Harrison. He rubbed his eyes warily before responding, bringing his leg to a stop and taking a deep breath to say the only thing he was willing to about the topic. And from the look on Fiona's face, she didn't expect him to say anything.

"Complicated."

"Is she planning on coming back to Dauntless?" Harrison continued. The others awkwardly fidgeted.

"I don't know."

"You mean to tell me, you jumped back in, and you don't even know if your _girlfriend_ is coming back with you?"

"It's complicated!" Four repeated, nearly shouting, then took measured breaths to hold himself in the chair. Harrison's use of the term popped something: remorse, guilt, disappointment, all welling up and pressing a hole in his chest.

Fiona took over the silence when the echo dissipated with her small, quiet voice. "You realize, dating outside the faction is prohibited? Socializing discouraged?"

"Yes."

He did know, but then all at once the anger drained out of him. He'd known since before he cut himself and dropped his blood on those coals. He knew it when he came back and walked into the simulation with Amar. But there's a difference between knowing and feeling the weight of realizing- joining the faction could cut him off from Tris forever. She'd always be at arm's length, an acquaintance at best. But he couldn't think about it. Not about her and definitely not about the rest of his life, which she'd chosen not to be in. This was the last place he could call home.

"If you had to choose between your faction and Tris, who would you choose?" Harrison challenged.

The urge to say what was expected wrestled in his gut, but that syringe sat there, glowing in the daylight. It taunted him to try and lie and see what happened.

"It depends," Four whispered.

Harrison was out of his seat punching the wall, muttering a curse.

Four exploded with equal — if not more — rage. The chair he'd been on clattered across the room when he stood up. The sound of both his and Harrison's foot steps echoed loud booms. Four paced in a wide arch to get as far as he could from Harrison.

"You want me to be honest, so I'm being honest. It would depend on the context, on what's at stake!" Four turned back to face them, holding his fingers in fists and swallowing the sparse saliva into his dry throat.

"Your faction, your _family_, or a girl you admit is a complication to your life, and you need context?" Harrison yelled back. He threw his hands up and banged the glass of the wall. A few passersby stuttered and turned to stare.

"If things were black and white we'd all be Candor," Fiona offered quietly, disarming Harrison and drawing Four's attention.

She let both of them take a few breaths. Four's shoulders relaxed a little and he flexed his fingers to let the blood back in. He picked up the chair and set it back in it's spot, but chose to lean against the back rather than sit.

Fiona let another breath pass before starting again with the agreed upon list. "You made a deal with the factionless, your mother. How do you feel about it?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought I could save some lives," he stated, tapping the backrest of the chair

Harrison didn't even let the last syllable fully escape Four's mouth. "Why did you leave after Erudite?"

Four raised his voice automatically, wishing it could carry venom. "To see what was on the outside. To find the truth. It's what we all want, right?"

Fiona snapped her fingers and silenced Harrison just as he uttered a sound with a look only mothers know how to give. She took back Four's attention and calmed his nerves with a polite smile that gave him a sense of security, but he was wary for the gesture.

"Then why come back?"

"What we have here isn't as bad as what's out there."

"You find it easier?" Harrison challenged, getting another finger snap and glare.

"Again, I find it preferable."

Fiona gave Harrison the longest glance possible while taking a seat and leaning forward. She crossed her legs and folded her hands between her thighs like she was waiting for a bedtime story. Then she asked, "Where did you go on the outside?"

"I went to Milwaukee. It's a city north of here, on the other side of the lake."

She asked him what he did there, what the structure was like, if he preferred how it was run, if he thought factions had a purpose there. Surprisingly insightful questions for a Dauntless, and surprisingly easy to answer. Each exchange raised Four's concern that his faith was going into the easiest bucket, not the most trustworthy. After all, he had known Harrison, worked for him. He barely knew Fiona.

Harrison had stood patient and bored, effectively silenced until he noted the lull in questions and spat one out. "What was the role you played in the death of Uriah Pedrad?"

Four tucked his chin and carefully sorted words from panicked emotions. He sat down, sweaty and defeated. "I participated in an action between two groups at the Bureau. While I was doing my part, someone else was setting off a bomb in another location. Uriah was injured and he died from those injuries."

"Were you aware of the bomb?" It was Fiona's sympathetic tone, not Harrison's harsh one, that made him answer.

Four shook his head slowly. He traced the lines on his palms rather than face the admonishment he imagined from across the room.

As they promised, Amar stepped forward and took up the syringe. Four tilted his head to the side, felt the pinch and throb entering his system, then disappeared under the heavy cloak of the serum.

He barely registered his statements as each question came back at him, out of order. "…No, I just prefer it."

"And your relationship with Johanna?" Harrison asked again.

* * *

"Congratulations." Fiona was pacing around the room, flexing her hands back and forth against each other. "You passed."

Four's head hung heavier to the right than the left. His shoulders were held down by the thousand pound hands he could barely feel. But the haze of the serum lifted with each beat of his heart. He tried one leg than the other, lifting each with some effort.

There was conversation around him — a snap back and forth between Fiona and Harrison and maybe Amar. She snapped her fingers to bring his focus back to her but it wasn't directed at him.

Amar half carried him outside, another muttered slight at his weight on his lips. He propped Four up against the wall of the elevator and eyed him, examined him.

"How'd you lose that finger?" he tried.

Four almost blurted it out. He got so far as, "This guy in the alley…" but he saw the dents in the door and got a hold of his tongue. Amar groaned in exaggerated frustration.

"Fuck you." Four shook his head and stepped past him towards his apartment. His feet still didn't feel like his own.

Amar followed. "Your old job's open." Four ignored him. "I've got dozens of wipes that have to go through initiation. I could really use the help." Silence. "Well?"

"I don't know," he snapped.

"I'm drowning in work and Lauren's no help. Not really."

"I'll think about it." Four rounded the corner.

"Is this about Tris?"

"What?" Amar should have known better than to play with a loaded gun. Four stepped close to him, chest to chest, his hands forcing Amar back with alarming force before curling into fists.

Amar stepped back, hands up. Four relaxed. "I just mean, are you thinking about leaving? As a friend," he added.

"You heard me. On the _truth _serum," Four shot back, then turned and started to walk. "I just want to think. Okay?" He paused when he heard the clop of boots following him. "Alone," he added, since Amar didn't seem to get the message.

"Well, wait a second. You can have one of these now." Amar tossed him an access token and a wrist band. "I'll meet you in the control room later, okay? It's time to get back to work."

Four slipped the token into his pocket, playing with the stiff leather of the band. "I'm not in yet, am I? What about the landscape?"

"We'll figure it out. Mainly they want _you_ to be on their side. The rest they'll be more patient about."

"Why me?"

"Elections are coming. People are murmuring about you already."

Four raised an eyebrow. "I fucked up, then I left. They have nothing to worry about."

"You don't give yourself enough credit. You came back, after all." Amar started to step away. "Just more to think about."

* * *

Four rolled from his front to his back, then back to side, and fitfully tried to doze into a nap. Rafael tip-toed around the apartment then disappeared, doing his part to help. With silence all around him, he let the confusion and frustration take hold.

Tris was begging him back, and Dauntless was waiting with open arms. If he went with Tris, he'd never get back to Dauntless. And when she left him — again— he'd be factionless. If he stayed in Dauntless, she could never hurt him again. But as strong as his resentment held, there was a trickling what-if there that he barely entertained.

She might settle for him, decide he's enough or close to enough. He and Tris could be happy, or at least not alone for the rest of their lives. His hand throbbed and brought him back to his realities. Tris and that life was a fantasy, with at best a fifty-fifty chance that he'd end up alone without a home.

When the pain subsided, the same train of thought rounded the bend and stormed back through. Tris, Dauntless, being cold and frozen all winter long, starving, the memory of her asking him to leave… He gave up on trying to sleep.

Four traced the familiar path to Zeke's apartment. Only after the echo of his knock did he remember and divert himself to Shauna's at an exhausted and slow amble. When he passed back in front of his own door, he questioned if it was even worth the trip. The stagnant, circular thoughts that had been swimming laps in his head needed another voice of reason. For the moment, Zeke would do.

Four heard the wheels approaching after a few seconds of silence. Four glanced up and down the hallway, pushing his hands into his pockets, nervous of how Shauna would receive him. He should have been there on day one, and he didn't have a good excuse why he wasn't. Just that some things he could avoid, and some things he couldn't, and occasionally he was selfish.

"Hey, Four…" her voice trailed off. Her expression was reserved, harsh, discerning.

"Hey, Shauna." He tried to soften her with a smile, but got nothing. "Um, it's nice to see you." Still nothing. "Can I borrow Zeke for a beer?"

"No." She watched his face fall then started to wheel back, out of the way. "But you can come in for one," she stated begrudgingly.

"Oh, okay." He stepped past her.

Zeke was just coming out from a shower, pulling his shirt over his head. Four smirked for two reasons. One, he hadn't even checked the time and the clock on the wall confirmed Zeke was fresh off of a patrol. The other was how silly he was to go to Zeke's apartment at all. It was obvious from the socks on the floor and the multiple pairs of shoes by the door that Zeke was all but moved in.

"Four! Finally," Zeke commented, a little pointedly. "What brings you here?"

"Beer. Or stronger," he requested. "If you have it."

"Okay." He pulled out a growler and some glasses. "Shauna?"

"Don't mind me, I'll scatter in a second." She was already gathering up a sweater and bag.

"Not on my account," Four protested.

"No, no." She haphazardly tossed items together and slung them over the handles on her chair. "I need to get some things." It was a lie, but she wouldn't let either man convince her to stay.

"She's still dealing with things," Zeke explained. "But, then again, so are you."

He examined Four's face, looking for the telltale signs he'd learned over the years. Four rarely came by just for a beer- he rarely came by at all. "Surprised your not at Lauren's spilling your guts. Or that Rafael guy."

Zeke was a little jealous, crossing his arms in challenge. Maybe he hadn't given Zeke as much attention as a best friend deserved since he got back.

"I was just bum-rushed through the loyalty check. I can use a break from Candor," he laughed, only half joking.

Some things he just couldn't talk to Lauren about, usually where girls were involved. And as the one usually rolling out advice, he didn't really see Rafael as an option. Zeke had walked him through bad dates, brief relationships, and made him a better friend. Four found him reliable when it came to interpersonal relationships.

Zeke's face lifted. "Awesome. Just some piddly drills before you're fully back in."

"Naw, I still have the landscape." He shrugged. "Guess I was taking too long, so they jumped a step."

Zeke blinked at him. "_You__'re_ having trouble with the landscape?" Four glared back his warning. "Fucking crazy!"

Zeke's expression wasn't gleeful like he expected. His eye lids pinched in the corners, like he was taking on a little bit of Four's pain, but without pity. Four saw true and honest empathy, confirming why he was at Zeke's counter. He could be foolish and bold, but under it all he was terribly observant.

"Well, it's a relief you got through the loyalty shit." He smiled.

"Didn't think I'd pass the check?"

"Wasn't sure they'd believe you."

"Truth serum. It's not that subjective."

"Paranoid bastards." Zeke slid the full glass, foaming at the top towards Four. Then hissed out in sudden outrage. "Truth Serum? Seriously. That's fucked up. You saved us in Candor. You saved us from the Simulation. You took us into Erudite. Not to mention the security system you put in and the control room you built."

He was getting wound up. Four wiped little darts of spit off his check.

"Up in their fucking ivory tower! They said we were having elections weeks ago. What happened with that? No polls. No results! The guys on the squad are about ready to toss the two of them into the chasm!" Zeke slammed his hand on the counter in punctuation.

It wasn't the conversation Four hoped to have, but maybe it was what Zeke needed to talk about, and his dislike for the topic made him feel guilty. Four carefully engaged in a sympathetic back and forth until Zeke felt they were on the same page — faction leaders chosen by faction members — and could refocus back on what brought him for a beverage.

"Once they get new blood in the leadership, shit's going to change around here. For the better, too," Zeke finished his rant.

Four saw his opening- not that his stomach didn't knot and his face didn't prickle with pink. "I hope so… How serious do you think the 'new blood' might be about the faction before blood thing? I mean, in your opinion or what the faction might think…hypothetically speaking."

"Yeah, uh huh." Zeke dismissed his pretense. "You getting back with Tris?"

Four shrugged, eyes on the glass. More alcohol might be needed.

"She's not coming back to Dauntless?" Zeke prodded.

Another shrug.

"Well, after half the faction settled in with the Erudite, you can't blame us for keeping up the road blocks." Zeke grimaced as he offered his response.

Four's face sagged and he sighed, not because he was disappointed, but because he should have expected it, anticipated it.

"You love her?"

Another shrug.

"What happened to it being a_ stupid_ crush?" Zeke scoffed, throwing Four's words back at him.

Four hadn't thought about their conversation walking back from capture the flag. His emotions were too on display to be missed by Zeke when Tris was being congratulated and playfully man-handled by her friends.

"Then? That's all it was. I mean, she was an initiate and she was failing out of stage one. It _was_ a stupid crush," he confirmed.

"So when she started posting crazy times in stage two?" Four stayed silent. Zeke hated having to pull information out- it seemed unnecessary and taxed his patience.

"When did you get together?" Zeke watched the red torch Four's cheeks.

"At the end of Stage two, when it looked like she'd make it." He took two large gulps.

"Shit. You could have been kicked out. They could still kick you out." Zeke held few rules sacred, but the one about only dating members was one of the few he wouldn't cross.

"I know. It just happened," he snapped.

Zeke gave him a nudge and a smirk, refilling their glasses — more alcohol in and getting it out of him would be easier. "Not with you. Nothing just happens. So, you're going factionless?"

"No. Dauntless is my home." Four adamantly shook his head.

"Then are you getting her to re-join?"

"I don't know, maybe. Probably shouldn't." He kicked at the stool leg not sure what to say and practically begging more questions from Zeke.

"Besides like Dauntless laws and leadership being dicks, what's stopping you?"

"Something in my landscape," he admitted.

Zeke raised an eyebrow and put his hand on the top of Four's glass so he couldn't distract himself with the drink he sorely wanted.

They never ever discussed anything about Four's landscape. Zeke's only glimpse came during playful jabs he and all their friends took when they tried to narrow it down, but they never got confirmation. If Four was going to hand even one over, Zeke knew it was a serious situation and composed himself.

"In my sim, I hurt her," Four admitted, deciding to fold his arms rather than play tug-of-war for the glass.

"So?" Zeke's voice was measured and prodding, but his body was tense on the edge of his stool, afraid to say too much.

"I can't trust myself with her," Four continued. He said it as a fact, the most obvious observation Zeke had ever missed. "Especially with how angry she makes me."

"Do you like it? When you hurt her?" The look Zeke got frightened him, and he was acutely aware that it would take only a small movement to turn the glass into a weapon.

"No," Four defended, looking hurt and apprehensive.

"So, how does it make you feel?"

"Sick." Four closed his eyes, focusing on each emotion that came through him, "Terrified. Ashamed."

"Good." Zeke sat back folding his hands, satisfied with thinking he'd made his point.

"Good? I'm fucking slaughtering my girlfriend and you say, good?" Four was on his feet, the stool sliding backwards.

Zeke put his arms up to block a strike. He hoped he'd make it through his explanation before the blow came.

"Yeah, good. If you weren't terrified by it, I'd say stay the hell away from her. Stay the hell away from me. The minute you're not afraid of hurting someone you love, you jump off the ledge and kiss the chasm, because that's the day you deserve to die."

It was as disarming as he'd hoped. Four ran his tongue over his teeth, limply sitting back down on the stool.

Zeke tapped the counter, eyes down, contemplating how to best help or reciprocate. He had parallels that were difficult to admit, but Four needed to not feel alone.

"I used to kill Uriah in my landscape. He'd be doing something to annoy me and I'd push him off a path or shoot him in the head and then I'd get kicked out. After the first time I saw it in my sim, I never really got mad at him again."

He was quiet for a second, reflecting on something haunting.

"As long as you're afraid of it, there's going to be something that stops you from doing it. There'll always be a little thought in the back of your mind that keeps you from getting to that point," Zeke explained.

"More?" He offered the growler after topping himself off. Four shook his head, quietly following the grains of the wood in the worn butcher block counter.

"So, Dauntless or Tris?" Zeke didn't really want to hear the answer he expected. Zeke hadn't known Four more than a few years, but in that short time he'd never seen him look as tired as he did giving a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders.

"I don't know. That's why I'm here so you can convince me." His cheeks went red. He should've had this conversation weeks ago, before any sims or serums.

Zeke rolled his eyes and sighed. "If you pick Dauntless, you'll spend the rest of your days up in your control room watching her. She'll find someone else. You'll see them walking down the street together. Then she'll be pregnant. Then she'll have a whole brood of kids with some Candor or Erudite."

Each statement deepened the look of sickness in Four's face, but the Erudite really drove him to groan.

"And, I bet she's happy with him. Or at least looks happy from what you can tell on those little screens." Zeke paused, letting that image sink in. "Or, you and her can shack up out there knowing that someone here is glancing at you, wondering how you can look so happy being factionless. If you love her, I don't think there's really a decision in it."

"Or she leaves me again and I'm stuck. Dauntless is my home." Four hung his head.

Zeke sighed, frustrated at the stubbornness.

"It is." Four pressed. "I've lived other places. I've lived factionless. I never want to be like that again."

Four let out a small chuckle. "It's so fucked up. I want her, but I don't want to lose Dauntless. If I could get her _here,_ in Dauntless..." He sometimes surprised himself how selfish he could be. "Maybe we could—"

"If you start back with her, and she's not in, Harrison will toss you out personally and I bet violently," Zeke said, cutting him off.

"What's his deal? He didn't seem to mind her before we left."

"Rumor is that his mom wasn't a traitor, that she got killed that first day and only one little girl was out firing bullets."

"Fucked up world." Four emptied the beer, wanting a different topic. "So, Shauna still running from me?"

"No — Maybe," Zeke chuckled. "I don't know. Losing Lynn has been awful. She found these notebooks… I guess it's made her rethink who her sister was. She won't talk much about it, not with me."

"That sucks."

"I think she thinks it'll upset me, you know, with Uriah gone."

"Would it?"

"Maybe. Depends." He put his hand out on Four's forearm as soon as he saw backwards motion to keep Four from retracting, blaming himself, "Uriah was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know that. And if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have had a chance to say goodbye."

"I'm so sorry," he said anyways.

"Shut up. You're basically the only brother I have left. Not to get all sentimental on you or anything, but I'm glad you're back. And I want you to stay, but I get it if you can't."

"No," Four shook his head. "I'm committed at this point. Choice is made."

"So you gotta get her back in," Zeke confirmed.

"If she's not back yet, she's not coming back."

"You could talk to her, you know." Zeke kicked his chair for emphasis. "I know that's a new concept for you but it can't be that hard to get a girl that actually likes you to talk to you."

"And what's that going to get me?"

"Answers. Maybe she hasn't come back because she's avoiding you. Ever think about that? Maybe all you have to do is ask and you could have both."

"Yeah, thanks for the beer." Four stood with a long exhale and clapped him on the shoulder as he headed out. He paused at the stairwell, deciding to head up to bed and face his nightmares rather than run away from them in the training room. It was time he acted half as brave as the others thought him to be.

**Pop a comment below if you're reading, re-reading, enjoying or hating. If you're looking for information on the next update there's a link to my tumblr in my profile which may be enlightening.**


	18. Chapter 18: It's just a talk

**Thanks to Milner for your beta and suggestions and to BK2U for the grammar advice.**

**If you read it, please review it.**

* * *

Tris had constructed a careful set of hints to suggest Caleb take Susan out on Wednesday. It would be a warm day; the sun was projected to be out in the afternoon and the sky would be clear. The perfect spring day for a walk. He didn't need much encouragement outside of her revelation that Susan liked the tulips and daffodils that were now sprouting around the city.

It guaranteed her at least a few hours alone in the apartment. While she knew he'd give her space if she asked for it, she felt too nervous every time she started the conversation. Asking for this specific purpose was presumptuous, exposing, and she didn't want to jinx herself.

It was better that no one knew. Then no one could grill her about it before or after. And if she chickened out or he said no, she wouldn't have to face the shame with anyone but her reflection.

As it was, it took a few days to catch Tobias in the hallway on his way down to the makeshift offices of the former-factionless. He freshly shaved that morning, scraping away the years along with his stubble. But dark circles still shaded the sockets of his eyes. He was troubled, exhausted.

She noted the black uniform— only his boots out of compliance with standard issue. A gun holster protruded from under his jacket, looking out of place in an office building. He looked more like himself than he had at any other time.

"Four," she called out and he turned quickly, surprised. She trotted up to him, watching his face stay neutral. She tried to mirror him to make it seem equal, although she was disappointed she didn't at least get a smile.

"Morning, Tris." He kept his hands clasped behind his back, standing straight and tall.

She wasn't certain if it was because of the public nature of their current location or if he didn't want to touch her. Either way, she'd somewhat hoped he'd reach out to her. In reality, the lactic acid in each and every muscle prevented anything more relaxed, and his better judgment kept him reserved.

"Hey."

She struggled for words once she had his attention. He looked at her expectantly. She mouthed the air and smiled, blushing. The corner of his lip cracked up in a chuckle.

"I wanted to thank you for walking me home." He nodded, waiting for her to continue. "I was wondering if you would come by my apartment tomorrow." She wiped her hands on her pants, biting her lip.

He let his face slip, looking uneasy and not fully believing his ears. She was ready for him to reject her or accept her, but the in-between was confounding, disappointing, withering.

At some point, he had to tell her that if she didn't come back to Dauntless, they would be on two sides of a permanent division. He just hadn't thought he'd have to do it so soon.

"I thought, maybe, we could just talk?" she offered. "Just you and me, without the audience."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed. "When?"

"Five?"

"No, doesn't work. I have commitments. Can you do it later? Maybe Thursday?" He checked his watch, his meeting minutes from starting.

"What time tomorrow?" she countered.

"Six?" he offered with a stiff shrug.

She knew that would be cutting it tight on Caleb's date. Susan wasn't one to lose herself in free time for long.

"Yeah, that'll work," she confirmed, holding out a small card with her apartment number. An hour would be a start.

"Okay." He nodded, taking it and glancing curiously with a small downturn in his lips that made her feel like she was pressing lemon into a wound.

"Uh, that shipment. It's suppose to come today. I should go check on that." Four abruptly proceeded on his way to meet with Therese. Tris watched uneasily as he walked to the stairwell.

{}

Four was gasping— his hand had been pressed against a cramp in his side for the last few minutes. Amar hitched his pace and slowed the two of them to a walk. It was obvious to Amar that Four wasn't sleeping, and having seen him in the control room late and then there again in the morning made him question if he'd gone to bed at all.

When Amar didn't see Four at lunch, he jogged up the stairs and checked only to find him face down on the desk, neck cocked at a disturbing angle on the papers. Amar came back an hour later with a sandwich and woke him up under the pretense of needing to collect a progress report for Harrison. Then he prodded him out for a few drills and a run. Amar hoped he could exhaust him into going to bed at a reasonable hour, in his own bed.

"I have to say, you're disappointing me." Amar shook his head. "What are they going to think when you can't pass drills?"

"I have to pass sims first," he commented. "I'm not cleared for drills yet anyway." He wasn't supposed to be exercising, not the way he liked to, but that would have been like telling him not to breathe. It didn't take much to convince Amar to look the other way. "I'm almost up to weight."

"What about that hand? You won't be able to grip very well."

"I guess that's why I have two," he suggested, being clever, but he knew it would be a limitation.

"Climbing is going to be hard."

"I prefer the ground anyways," he countered.

"Hand to hand, can you even form a fist?"

"Do you want me to quit or keep trying? Because I'm having a hard time figuring it out," he half shouted, irritated at the constant contradictions.

"I want to make sure you're making the best decision. The standards haven't changed. The rules are the same." He looked him over. Seeing the depleted body and mangled hand, Amar didn't see a soldier, he saw a veteran. And then there was the larger matter of Tris, a topic he hadn't been successful discussing, yet.

"I'm already a third of the way through and you need me to run the control room," he countered. Then — carefully testing the waters of Amar's expectations— added, "Don't get me wrong. I think I'm going to lose some fights and probably have to swallow some pride, but I'll do this."

"Okay." Amar liked the determination he heard. "So, what are you and Tris going to talk about?" Persistence had paid off more than once in the past.

"I don't know," Four relented. The two miles they ran had softened him, relaxed him.

"Let her down easy, okay?" It was a slightly different tactic, to see what he was planning.

Four nodded his head, grimacing as he caught his breath and hoping to avoid further questioning.

"It's going to be hard," Amar stated sympathetically. "You like her, she likes you. But there's no place for divisions. Not this early in rebuilding."

Four didn't want to spend the next two hours thinking it to death. He'd made his decision, and mulling it over with Amar threatened to unmake it.

"It's not that hard. She lied to me. She broke up with me. She's moved on," he asserted.

"And you lied to me, and I lied to you. But here we are back being friends," Amar reminded. "It's not going to be easy when you're staring her straight in the face."

"You're a nicer person than me."

"I doubt that." Amar yawned.

"Don't fall asleep on me, old man," Four teased, starting back into a steady pace.

* * *

He had a shot in the arm, the serum spreading like cooling gel down into his hand. He'd been off the pills entirely, narcotics and otherwise, but it was a struggle after workouts. He had switched to alcohol to both relieve the ache and help him sleep. He knew it wasn't the best alternative, but socializing, whether with Zeke, Rafael or Lauren took his mind off of the thoughts that consumed the rest of his day: simulations, Tris, and how much he had to eat to put on weight.

He took a shower then finished shaving, pausing to check his body in the mirror. His ribs were still prominent, but his hipbones were shrinking back behind his muscles. He threaded his belt through and was relieved that he was back to the standard holes.

Striking the balance between building up his body and burning off calories wasn't easy. The compulsive need to train revived following his renewed commitment to membership. The activities were familiar, but his ability to complete them was disappointing. When he first tried a push up he couldn't put weight on his hand. He couldn't do it one-handed anymore, either. It was a stark reminder of how far he needed to go. At least it was healed up and he didn't have to wrap it anymore.

The nights still dipped near freezing; he zipped up a black coat rescued from an abandoned locker downstairs. The sleek outer coating meant the wind wouldn't get through, but he also liked how he looked in black. His worried glance into his reflection revealed his obvious nerves, unfortunately, to his rapt and amused audience.

"Come on, peacock." Rafael teased, "You can't get much prettier and the train's coming in ten."

Four's patience with him was thin; he needed time to be alone, to think. He'd been sharing his apartment, sleeping head to toe in his bed, cleaning up dust off his table from Rafael's shoes. Rafael was scheduled to head out to Amity. So it didn't make sense to make other arrangements, but it didn't change the feeling that he could snap and kill him any minute.

"Curfew's at 11," Rafael jokingly called after him. Four let the door slam behind him.

He didn't intend on leaving so early, but the silence was immediately relaxing. In hindsight, he could have met her at five. It could have been over and dealt with in time to shoot off a few rounds at the range afterwards. Instead, Four chose to walk and battle the contrasting arguments with each step.

The shadows of the closing sun painted the alleys and put each building in contrast to the clear and fading sky. Pebbles sputtered out when he lazily dragged his feet or purposefully kicked a stick out in front of him. The echo of his steps was lonely, any noise making adrenaline pump into his blood. He kept his ear out for any sound behind him, looked around constantly, and at one point, drew his gun in preparation.

Four entered the well-lit and populated center of the city just when the last light was fading. He could see the top of her building, a few blocks between him and cementing his decision in place. His heart rate soared with dread, not unlike playing executioner.

Four's watch matched the clock at the train station, both telling him he was early. He slowly circled the square twice before stepping out on the street to her building. Three hundred and twenty steps, because counting was the only way he could keep his breathing in check. Three strides in, three strides out, three strides in, three strides out.

* * *

He pushed through the doors of her building. He eyed the tiny elevator and contemplated the stairs, but wasn't certain he could make it all the way up without cramps in his calves. He rocked his neck back and forth popping vertebrae, told himself he'd be fine, and let the doors close.

There wasn't space for more than four people, and each chime of the floor shrank it even further. He put his arms out, one on each side, to prove to his mind that the walls were holding firm. Roughly, Four pushed the doors apart when they started to separate too slowly.

His feet stuck to the floor outside her door, threatening to trip him. The green slab was plain, just like all the other doors in the hallway, with the same uniform rugs out front. Theirs was caked with the salt remnants of winter, still wet from someone arriving home in the last few hours. Only the numbers differentiated her home from the others.

He paused to breathe in and out— his focus then scattered by various rushes of thought. What if Caleb was also home? What if she'd made him dinner? What if she was coming back to Dauntless? What if she asked him to leave, again? He tried coming up with a series of sentences he could try, but planning it out wouldn't be any use.

He glanced at his wrist, 6:01, questioning if he was too punctual. Would it have been better for him to explore the floor for five minutes? He took a few bounces on the soles of his shoes to get some momentum back in his legs before he knocked firmly.

Glass shattered on a hard surface followed by mumbled curses. She came to the door flustered; her eyes annoyed but alive. Her hair was loosely pulled back, but falling out in front, wisped around her face. She was proudly displaying her tattoos with a green tank top under a black sweater, and a wide smile stretched across her face before she composed herself.

This could be easy, if he let it. If he forgot why he was there.

"To— Four." She had to make a concentrated effort to call him that, since he asked. The effort was apparent.

"Tobias," he half smiled. "You can always call me Tobias, when it's just us." He felt instant regret— Four was a wall that could help hold the barricade he needed, and he gave up that tool in an instant. Then again, it would never be just them again and he liked how she said his name.

"Come in." She laughed, nervous and tense. "I wasn't paying attention. Caught the cup with the broom handle. And I was almost done sweeping." She was barefoot, on the hunt for her shoes by the couch.

He immediately took the broom leaning against the cabinet, collecting shards into a pile. "It's okay. I've got it."

"You don't have to." She had one shoe in hand.

"Stop, Tris." He laughed at her hopping to get a shoe on while still looking for the second. "I've got it." He bent to sweep it into the pan and noted the droplets of blood. "You cut yourself."

She immediately sat, pulling her foot up to examine it and putting pressure on the small cut with her fingers. She was tiny in the chair, her whole body easily fitting on the seat, feet and all. She pulled her knees to her chest while she watched him finish. It struck him how giant she seemed in his mind, completely contrasting with her slight physicality.

"Tea?" He asked, pointing to the cup she'd left on the counter.

"Yeah, do you want some? The kettle is hot."

"Sure." He popped open the cabinets until he found a cup and poured.

She watched him. Part of what made him intimidating in initiation was that he never wasted a movement. He was always so sure of his body. It was the same even when he didn't know where everything was. Each motion was precise, in control, like a finely choreographed dance. Tris liked watching him move.

He joined her, setting her cup in front of her and sitting across from her. "Thank you."

He examined the reality in front of him. Tris was only a few feet away, and yet he wasn't angry. He was relaxed until the nagging churn of his stomach reminded him of his mission. The disarming pleasantries of tea and accidents had diverted him, but he was back on track.

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"I umm..." She paused before laughing nervously, burying her face in her knees for a second. "I don't know where to start. I don't want to fight, or upset you. But I don't know what might set you off either," she admitted.

Processing the multitude of responses down to just one took him longer than her pause.

"I guess I can start with this. George asked me to hold these for you." She got up and pulled out an envelope.

"George? Why didn't he just give it to me himself?" He'd been out at the fence for most of the time he'd been back, but they crossed paths a half dozen times.

"Meddlers. All your friends are meddlers." She smiled, pulling out the sheets of paper and layering them on the table before daring to take the chair on his right. "They're from Tori's apartment. It took me a second, but I recognized it. I thought you might like them."

He watched the sheets tile on the table, recalling each pulse of the needle over the hours. He laughed, lining up the patterns. "She played the same five songs over and over. I sometimes still hear one of them right before I fall asleep." He paused and pointed, tapping where two points connected out away from his spine. "She messed this one up. Ink didn't stick, so it didn't connect. But I liked it, so I made her leave it. Pissed her off. Every time I went back she'd beg me to fix it. It's the only part that's not symmetrical, besides the symbols." He sighed, stacked them up and slid them back into the envelope. "Thanks for keeping these."

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't mind something to remind you of her."

"We spent a lot of time together."

"Who else were you friends with? Before I got there, I mean."

"Oh, umm… Lauren, Zeke, Shauna. They all patrolled together," he explained. "And Amar, before he died, or whatever. And the facilities crew, sort of, but most of them were traitors. Who else?" He looked up, getting quick flashes of a dozen parties and misadventures. "I guess the kids, but we didn't hang out with them much. You know, too cool for that. They're all dead now. Marlene, Lynn, Uriah... I don't want to talk about them." He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly spent and exhausted.

"Okay." She let him sit in silence, not sure what to ask or how to step back from the unintended shadows. When his sullen expression fixed on her, her first instinct was to look away. But she held it, letting him have time to memorize when she realized this was the end of everything.

Paintings had hung for decades with less scrutiny than he leveled at her in a moment's observation. He wanted to know every story behind each line in her face, which nail snagged the strings out of the collar of her sweater, the reason behind the slump in her shoulder.

At the same time, he was quietly easing into a soft frustration. Just like artists who were long dead and could never give their statements, Tris would be a mystery to him after tonight. If this was the night of lasts, he'd get every question on the table.

"Why did you ask me to leave?" He hit it head on. She flinched.

"I told you at Christina's." Tris slurped her tea.

"I wasn't really listening. I was escaping." He laughed a little, shocked at how easy it was to sit here with her counting down the seconds to the end.

"It's going to sound really stupid." She buried her face in her hands. At least it was getting easier each time she had to admit it. Easy or not, she rapidly replied, "I just wasn't thinking right and I was so confused. I saw my parents. Like a dream." His eyebrows pinched together, amused at the craziness she was admitting. "It seemed so real. Everything about it. I had a choice to live or to go with them. And I chose to go with them."

He flinched.

"See? It's pretty unforgivable."

"No, it's not. You love your parents," he stated. In his head he added, '_more than me_'.

"When I woke up and you were there, it was just too much. You said you'd leave me if I ever risked my life again, so you shouldn't have been there in the first place. And when you were, I just didn't deserve you."

"Of course I was there. I love you." It was out, his mouth snapping shut when he registered what he said. Her eyes lightened.

He continued, "I was pissed. I was_beyond_ pissed, but I was going to wait until you were, you know,_alive,_ before I let you have it. But I wouldn't have left you, not ever."

"So, you love me?" She smiled, a little giddy. He cringed at the false hope.

"Let's pretend I didn't say it. I'm still mad at you." She expected him to blush, but he looked upset instead. She stayed smiling, looking back at him hopefully. He crossed his arms, stubbornly trying to stay a little angry.

"Yeah, but I can work on that." She put her hand out.

He reluctantly took it, feeling the electricity when he touched her. Like everything in his body aligned at once. And it felt_right_. Even if it hurt sometimes, it always felt right with her. He thought to himself how much he'd miss feeling that way.

"So now what?" she asked.

He wasn't ready — it was ending too fast. He needed to stall and stretch out the feeling of her fingers between his.

"I don't forgive you. I'm still mad." He felt a little guilty for selfishly dragging it out.

"You keep saying that. So why not say why?" she asked. "Let me have it, like you wanted to. I'm recovered. I can take it."

He thought for a second, taking in a deep breath, but everything he would say in a moment of rage sounded stupid in the quiet of her apartment. He squirmed. "I can't. I can't just do it on command."

"Just say what was on your mind. When I told you to leave. If I told you to leave right now." She hesitated to hear it, but she wanted everything out in the open so they could move past it.

"Honestly?" He blew out his cheeks, carefully weighing all the emotions wrestling through him. "I was so exhausted, just done with you. I think I had my mind already made up when you said it."

"I wasn't fair to you." She said it with some regret, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

"No. You weren't." The edge of irritation underlined his statement, anger finally within reach. He hesitated for just a second then took full advantage. "You were a… a bitch! Just completely shut off. I didn't deserve that. We'd been working so hard on not keeping things from each other. It was like a slap in the face every time you sent me out. And I kept coming back, like a fool, thinking you'd get over it — that it was something broken in your head. I have been so angry for months! I've never been that upset with anyone, ever. There's times I wish I'd never met you. I don't know if any of it was worth this…. You drive me fucking crazy." He took a deep breath in and let it out along with months of pressure.

"Okay," she said, sitting back in the chair. His face was blotted red, his breathing a little fast, a vein in his temple pulsing. "So, how do I fix it?"

"You don't fix it! You can't just make it go away. You can't undo the past." He folded his right hand under his left arm, hyper-conscious of his missing digit.

"No, I can't," she sighed, feeling like she was hitting up against a brick wall. "So is that it? There's nothing I can do? It's done? This is what you want?" She couldn't keep her emotions concealed, and the tears bubbled up past the mild suppression of her medications.

He hated to see her in pain, to see her defeated. And after months of wanting nothing but to somehow share the suffering, there wasn't any fulfillment in seeing it in person. He let her cry, uncertain how to stop it.

"It doesn't matter what I want. Dauntless members can't date outside of the faction," he whispered. "It's pretty close to rule number one."

She nodded gravely, pulling her hands off the table and wrapping them around her legs. His chest stung; he missed her already.

"Faction before blood." She nodded.

"We can't be anything more than friends. And even then, that's discouraged. And you're not coming back, are you?" He wanted confirmation.

"I have a plastic shoulder blade. Not much of a chance in a fight," she dismissed, wiping her eyes.

"Shauna found her place. Wouldn't have tried if it wasn't for you. They might make exceptions." He kept himself as reserved as he could with his elevated pulse and short breaths.

"And if I did?"

"We could…" he admitted.

"Would you even want to?"

"Yeah, I would." He looked at her through his fingers, pinched between his brow, testing if it could relieve the sudden throb behind his eyes.

"And when I fail?" she asked. He stayed silent. He didn't have an answer.

"That's not reassuring." She sniffled.

"_If_ you fail," he corrected. "It's the only way we can do this."

"Okay. Who do I need to talk to?" He didn't know how they got there — if they were always on that path or if he failed his mission — but he didn't care about the promises he made Amar or the assurances he gave Harrison.

Tobias wanted to give movement to the urgency he could barely contain, but he reminded himself to be careful with her. He thought for a moment that fast movements might scare her off. He gently tugged on her arm while he stood, and wrapped her against his chest. She was soft, warm, exactly the right size. Holding her was like finding the only place in the world where his demons couldn't reach him.

The doorknob turned and the door cracked open. Tris was slipping away before he could think to hold her there. Caleb shuffled in, his bag and jacket smacking against the door jamb. The smile fluttered off of his face, seeing Four perturbed and Tris puffy-faced.

"Ah, sorry. Tris failed to mention..." He blushed and ducked past them to his bedroom door, not quite able to move fast enough for Four.

"Sorry," she apologized, picking up their mugs and setting them in the sink. He rubbed his eyes and realized the level of tired he was approaching.

"I should go." He turned, looking for shoes he already had on, disoriented. "Amar," he stated.

"What?"

"You have to talk to Amar, probably Fiona and Harrison. If you're serious about coming back."

"Okay. I will." She nodded, emphatically.

Her outward eagerness didn't satisfy him. "When?"

"Friday," she decided. "I'll go there Friday."

He didn't know if he should hug her, kiss her, or wave and walk away. But she solved it for him, pushing her arms around him, her head on his chest. It wasn't until he saw Caleb peek out from his bedroom that he backed up and pressed his lips to her forehead before turning and walking out her door.

"So, what just happened?" Caleb asked, annoyed and concerned.

Tris slowly turned the deadbolt. "I asked him to come over."

"And?"

"And what?" She shrugged, not looking for his approval but fearing his disapproval all the same.

"If you wanted the apartment to yourself, you could have said so. I could have stayed at the lab later."

"I thought you went to see Susan."

"I did. She's not comfortable dating. It's not how the Abnegation do it." He sighed, and she could see how red-rimmed his eyes were.

"I'm sorry Caleb, she might come around."

"Anything can happen, right?" He stepped back into his room with a weak smile.

"I'm rejoining Dauntless," she offered as proof. He cocked a concerned eyebrow.

* * *

**Milner started a little project called 'The First Time' - in which she imagines different ways Tris and Tobias might meet. Which also inspired Windchimed to write 'Intrusion'. Go read those. :)**

**Also - I have short snippets under the title Omitted (T) and Omissions of Seduction (M) that you might like. **

**If you read it, review it - because I love to hear what you think.**


	19. Ch19: Everything Comes Together

**Praise be to Milner for the heavy lifting as of late and being an excellent sounding board and beta. And to BK2U for the grammar support and making me seem smarter than I am. **

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Four strutted across the square, lighter, warmer, like the cold couldn't catch him. For a short time the past was a memory that nipped at his heels but couldn't trip him. He chose to jump on the train just past the station, while it was speeding up towards Dauntless. With the wind brushing under his coat he felt alive, awake.

Six months ago that impulse would have had him running the whole way back to Dauntless, the adrenaline burning life back into his muscle memory. But the reasons he didn't were stashed in his scars, his slight limp, his aches – his reality was coming back to him minute by minute. By the time he jumped off, his enthusiasm had been tempered into a prudent hopefulness.

He nodded politely as he passed members in the Pit, the stairwell, his hall. A few held out their hands and he shook them as he was expected to, trying to not let the pain of their squeeze show on his face while equally trying to be firm. It was the uneasy lie; he was still trying to find his place in a structure that welcomed him for the wrong reasons.

Rafael, Lauren and Zeke were playing cards around his table. From the pile of beans, it looked like Rafael was winning.

"So, what's the story?" Rafael asked, feet up on the fourth chair. "Is it love, sweet love?"

"Where have you been?" Zeke asked.

"When do you go to Amity?" Four hung his jacket up with a sigh.

"You're going to miss me." Rafael smiled broadly. He would, but he was ready for some space.

"I'm missing the sound of silence." Four smiled, then pushed Rafael's feet off the chair. "And a clean table, clean dishes, food in the fridge..."

Rafael evaluated him, raising his bet at the same time. "I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

"It didn't go half bad." He let a small smile creep onto his face before drinking from the bottle between them.

"What didn't go half bad?" Lauren snapped, annoyed.

"Well, hot damn! That's worth a celebration," Rafael continued, ignoring her.

"What isn't?" Four teased.

"Damn it, what?" Zeke pulled the bottle out of Four's hands to get his question answered.

"Super-soldier's been in the city seeing a certain foul-mouthed lady," Rafael informed.

"So you talked to Tris." Lauren shifted forward on her seat. "And?"

Zeke leaned in as well. "Yeah, and?"

"And nothing." Four rolled his eyes.

"Not nothing," Lauren corrected him. "Something's got you all cheery-cheeked."

"She says she's going to talk to Amar on Friday." He smiled.

"Told you." Zeke laid his cards down, two pair.

"Flush," Rafael called, and swiped up the pile of beans.

"So she's coming back?" Lauren asked, studying him.

"I'm trying not to count my chickens. She's got to talk to Amar and start sims. Like, really come back."

"And then?" Lauren prodded.

"And then, we'll see." Four counted out a pile of beans from Rafael's pile.

"You're letting her off light," Lauren scoffed. Four glared, picking up his cards. "You are. She should have to do something to earn you back."

"Lauren, stay out of it," Zeke warned her, but she was a little drunk.

"No. That bitch just walks out and back in without consequences. She doesn't deserve you."

"Jealous much?" Zeke snapped, trying to avoid the rising tensions.

"Lauren, I didn't say everything was roses. I said, 'We'll see'," Four said sternly.

"Is she moving here? Is she giving up her job at the government center?"

"It's none of your damned business what she does." Four arranged his cards.

"Meaning you didn't even ask. She's just going to walk all over you and right back out."

Zeke clapped his hand over her mouth. "Lauren, shut the fuck up and just be happy for him for two seconds." She spit in his palm.

Four slapped his cards down on the table and got up to avoid doing anything he'd regret. If all his friends were in his apartment, he only had one place left to go – Amar.

He wasn't expecting George to open their door. He'd been gone at the start of the week on the fence, training people. Or, as Four suspected, avoiding the ghosts of Dauntless.

"Hey, I didn't mean to interrupt, I didn't realize you were home." Four smiled and started to excuse himself.

"No, come in. You're not interrupting anything." George ushered him through.

Amar was sitting on one side of a chess board, smiling softly and contemplating his move.

"He's got me in a pickle," Amar mused, pointing at the board; Four never had a mind for that type of game. Amar tapped his pieces then made a decision before turning back to him. "So, what brings you here?"

"My apartment's full, looking for a quiet place." He took a seat on the couch, sinking into the cushions.

"How'd she take it?" Amar asked, grumbling when George took one of his pieces off the board.

"She's going to talk to you about rejoining on Friday."

"Really?" Amar sounded amused.

"Yep."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Don't know," Four admitted, stretching his neck and folding his hands on his stomach. "Just happened."

"Sure it's her idea?" Amar asked, watching George dance his fingers back and forth between three pieces.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if it's not her idea, if she doesn't want to come back, that loyalty test is going to be a bugger," Amar warned.

"She brought it up." Four shrugged, but he hadn't considered the loyalty test; in the back of his mind he knew she could always lie.

"She's not a member, you know," Amar warned.

"And neither am I," Four reminded.

George took another piece. Amar sighed and sucked on his teeth.

"You're a lot closer than you think. When you're a member and she isn't, Harrison isn't going to want to bend the rules."

"I'm not rushing in," Four tempered.

"You see, Four, I happen to recall you and Tris becoming a fast item, seemingly exactly when she became a member. Now, that might just have been the circumstances, or you're not as in control around her as you say." Amar finally moved a piece. George studied the board harder.

"What are you saying, Amar? You're certainly not throwing around accusations or rumors, are you?" George asked, clearly assisting him. Four let his head fall limply against the back of the couch. Contrived, lecturing conversations were his least favorite.

"No, George. Just pointing out that that girl is like a light, and he's the moth – he can't seem to help himself but circle in quick. I even think he's even been burned once or twice. It wouldn't be wise to get caught this time around, especially since Harrison will be watching you like a hawk. It would be wiser to figure out a life you can live without her, just in case she doesn't stick."

"Now, that is good advice for everyone." George moved a piece from one side to the other. "Life is more than a relationship between just two people. There's work, hobbies, family and friends. They all have to be cared for, nurtured, so that when one hits the rocks the others help you through it." George smirked when he took another piece.

"Subtle, guys." Four stretched out his legs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No shoes on the couch," Amar chastised. Four sighed and shifted his boots off the side.

"Seriously, Four. Tris can't be the only thing in your life worth sticking with, so make sure everything else is in order, too." George cleared his throat and declared check mate.

"Consider everything. Like what life looks like if you're not here…." Amar warned him.

"You failing me out?" Four's head cracked in Amar's direction, defensive and concerned.

"Only you can fail you. But you have to stay focused. If you insist on bringing in a distraction, you should have a backup plan. You seem suited for government work, build something off of that."

Amar's statement burned Four in the hollow of his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

"So, what if she doesn't make it? You still staying?" George asked, resetting the board.

"Yes," he said quickly, trying to tamp down the irritation in his tone.

"Then it would be prudent to cool your jets. Get things in order and wait for her to pass the tests," Amar suggested, moving the first pawn.

"Yeah, you're right." Four's hopefulness and elation from earlier was twisted into what-ifs, reigniting his nagging concerns.

* * *

Four delayed their altercation as long as possible, but an all-clear declaration from Janice meant he couldn't push it off any longer. Zeke had been nagging at him for weeks, trying to get him agitated into something more informal. Four played his health status more than once, but with that excuse out the door, all that was left was a nagging dread that he'd end up flat on his back in front of everyone. He hadn't spent much time on combat, just on strength and endurance – he hadn't felt so out of his skin approaching a fight since that first match in initiation.

Even if Four had a way out, he probably wouldn't use it. On the morning of preparation, Zeke's jabbering and taunting over breakfast, and his continual promotion all throughout served as helpful distractions: the alternative was to stare at the monitors all day and hope Tris kept her word. He would rather find out later that she never showed up than watch each minute pass one by one.

Bare-minimum weight put him at least fifteen pounds under Zeke, if not closer to twenty. The only advantage left to him was his longer reach and height, maybe his speed. Zeke promoted it as fight one in a series, like Four would need obvious redemption and rematches because of Zeke's advantage.

Zeke circled on the mat, eager, beating chalk into his wrapped hands and riling the gathering crowd with flippant statements and taunts.

Four took his time unlacing his boots, wrapping his knuckles, thinking back over the last fight they had. This was a rematch almost two years in the making. The last time they fought –more than just jabbed or sparred– Zeke almost won and Four walked away with broken ribs. They were almost even at the time, a fact that weighed heavily on him.

Four paused, pulling off his shirt to get better movement. His tattoos peeked out around the tank top that hugged his lean physique. Amar and Rafael joined the crowd, laying down opposing bets. Even Shauna had made a point to get situated up on the catwalk, with help from a couple friends.

"He's never gonna last," Amar dismissed. "Zeke's one of the best fighters in patrol."

"It's not all about strength." Rafael repeated Four's favorite reminder from their training sessions.

"No, Dauntless is never all about strength," Amar agreed and grinned, "But you've never seen either one of them on the mat."

"And I don't think you've seen him in a bar," Rafael mused.

Zeke landed a heavy body blow early, as if to remind Four of their difference in mass. Four grimaced and took six hits in succession, partially blocking with his elbows and then lashing out with his knee. Zeke bounced back and jabbed the air, putting on a show for the crowd. Four rolled his eyes and sized up Zeke's technique: his lazy right hand, his habit of stiffening his knee, the distracting pandering.

Zeke came in for more brutal body shots, getting a quick lick to his jaw and an abrupt descent to the mat instead. Four gave him a swift kick while he scurried to his feet.

"Not the kidneys," Zeke coughed.

"Oops." Four raised his eyebrows playfully and waited for Zeke to attack.

Each exchange, Four nibbled at Zeke's bad habits, protected his head, and focused through the pain.

"This is a master class on endurance," Amar commented to Rafael, nodding in approval. "If he can outlast him, Zeke's in trouble."

Zeke switched up his posture. His position put Four onto his left leg, so he had to deliver the fast and rapid strikes with his right hand. It took advantage of Four's injury; it was smart and pissed him off at the same time.

Four unleashed a bevy of fast, unblocked shots that pushed Zeke onto his heels and then back on the ground. That's where he should have stopped, but a little taste of the monster had been taunted out, and he continued his pointed attack.

"Oh, shit," Amar groaned, jumping up to grab him before Four could do serious damage, getting elbowed as his reward.

Zeke cupped his face and laughed painfully on his back, satisfied that he'd had a fair fight even if he was counting more lamps than the ceiling held.

Four shook off the annoyance and the anger, freeing himself from Amar to take a few paces around the mat. He breathed in three deep breaths, banishing the monster back under his skin, and reached out to help Zeke up.

"Sorry about your face." Four crinkled his nose then made an evaluation. "Shauna might like it better if I finally straighten your nose. We could keep going if you want?"

"It was you that broke it in the first place," Zeke complained with a grin. "I thought I had you, you skinny shit. But I'm done."

"You need to protect your chin."

Zeke put his hand on Four's shoulder while they walked to the infirmary to get checked over by Janice.

"I've been thinking. You know that snake Uriah had?" Zeke asked, slowing their pace a little.

"That squiggly mess behind his ear?" Four laughed. "What about it?"

"I want to get it, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's like a piece of him."

"If that's what you want, then you should."

"All the family is doing it. You want to?"

"Does all the family think that's a good idea?" he said with warning.

"Mom said so, so they don't have a choice," Zeke confirmed, catching him off guard.

"Hana's okay with it?"

"You've always been like family. This just makes you full family." Zeke squeezed his shoulder with a smile.

"Yeah, okay. If you want to, I'm in." It wasn't something he could say no to, regardless of the design or the guaranteed awkward glances. An invitation to be part of a family – of having a family, even one he didn't deserve– he felt like he had to honor Hana and Zeke's invitation. It also appealed to his longing to belong.

"Good. And Mom wants you at Sunday dinners." Four started to protest, but Zeke cut him off. "Seriously? Are you going to say no to my mother? Besides, Shauna's folks and Hector are coming, too. We're going to try and blend them together so Mom's not alone on Sundays."

"Okay. I'll come most of the time. But I have to go to Amar's some, too." Zeke snickered, making Four blush and take in a breath; he'd never had conflicting social priorities before.

"Well, this weekend you're ours. Meet me at Shauna's at five. I could use some help with her chair." Zeke finally took his arm off Four's shoulder when they reached Janice, amused but disapproving as she stood in her door frame.

"All clear doesn't mean 'in with both feet'." Janice pushed Four into the little room first, shutting the door after them and looking at his pupils.

"Got the last of your blood work back. Everything's clean, didn't catch anything out there," she assured, pressing his neck and watching for signs of pain. "No more fights, okay? Wait for drills and try to get another ten pounds on, if you can, as quick as you can. You're just over the line, so you have to take it easy and get some wiggle room."

"Okay. Thanks, Janice," he said in his most placating tone.

"Out!" she commanded, popping open the door. "In!" Zeke shrank and looked nervous as they swapped places.

Four waited, peeling the tape off his skin as he leaned against the wall. Janice was pitching a fit, although the exact words were muffled. Zeke didn't make eye contact on his way out.

"What are you waiting for?" Janice glared, still red in the face.

"Sucker?" Four tried. She swatted him with a folder and pushed him back into the training room.

"To Bud?" Zeke asked.

"Now?"

"Yeah, why not? You're killing time anyway, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Four led the way towards the tattoo parlor, half hoping they wouldn't find the design on the wall and slightly concerned to be touched by someone other than Tori.

* * *

Tris followed Amar from Fiona's office; her nerves that had settled mildly about rejoining prickled again the closer she came to the noise. She felt self-conscious – the black clothes she had found hung loosely, modestly, not Dauntlessly. She knew she stood out.

"This is the members' training center, doubt you saw much of it. The locker room is over there, the water fountain, the equipment. Yep. Your basic stuff. Through there is the drill room, where you did initiation. If you have questions just ask. And clean up after yourself. And don't fuck it up with Four, okay?" He smiled briefly, sending her on her way — off-balance and tentative.

Instinctively, she sought Four out in the crowd of dozens of black-clad Dauntless. She glanced from small groups to solitary men to each pair of training partners. She examined the little bodies high up on the climbing wall and the two kids dangling upside down on bars. She paused and looked at her watch; Amar said this is where he would be. Then a laugh she recognized sailed over the gym – Zeke would know where Four was.

She didn't have to ask. Among the laughing men and (mostly) women, Zeke was telling a story, elbowing Four every few statements. Four, for his part, looked mildly annoyed and placating. Both looked bruised and dirty – Zeke still had tape on his hands and the red marks on Four's were obvious. Each had white gauze on their necks. She had to bite back her concern and remind herself where she was.

It seemed to be lost on Four that most of the women weren't paying much attention to Zeke, one even going so far as to lean up against him. He didn't move away, but he didn't lean in, either. It wasn't lost on Tris. She felt an instinctive need to be near to him, right up close and next to him, replacing that girl. Instead, she edged her way politely into the crowd to wait until he noticed her, wondering what he might do.

She could tell when he registered her in the crowd: his eyes popped open a little wider, chin nudged up, shoulders rolled back. He excused himself carefully, pushing past the audience as she slipped under arms and between bodies to meet him on the outside of the crowd. He kept his arms crossed, holding his elbows, protective of his freshly-bruised body and tentative about her intentions.

"You're here." He let a reserved smile unseat the typical frown.

"Yeah, I said I would be," she confirmed, wiping her hands on her pants.

"So, you're rejoining?" he said with some skepticism.

"Yeah. I'm in." He let a full smile mirror hers.

Four licked his lips and let himself look from her face down and back up, then shuffled to the side of the room; she followed him. He walked backwards to make sure she was with him, finally letting his arms swing freely, feeling for the wall. They passed under the mezzanine and under the stairs to the elevated catwalk that circled the space.

He slowed then stopped, turning to her to bashfully explain, "It's a little less public." But there were plenty of eyes on them, Zeke's among them.

Standing against the wall, the shadow of the stairs made it fairly dark, closed off. He carefully gripped her hand, looking at how their fingers meshed together and rubbed the skin of her palm with his thumb, relearning her warmth. She relaxed and stepped a half-step closer so she could feel the heat coming off of him, smell the subtle musk of an active day. Her hand found his hip, playing between his belt and the cloth of his pants.

"What did Harrison have to say?" Four asked, continuing to play with her digits.

"He wasn't there. Just Fiona. She seems nice."

"Yeah, seems." He smirked.

Tris noted the bandage on his neck, reaching out before she could stop herself. "Another tattoo?"

"Yeah, just an hour ago, actually." He pulled both his hands away and rubbed the back of his neck, stopping her investigation.

She recoiled. "What?"

"You're not back in yet. It's a gray zone, but we could both get kicked out on a technicality. Which is why we need to stay...calm about things."

"Calm?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Besides, it's probably not a bad idea to take our time. I mean, we have things to fix, right?"

"Second thoughts?"

"No," he said quickly and with a sincere, unblinking stare. "Absolutely not. Just asking for some time to adjust to it, that's all. I mean, you might decide this isn't what you want." She clearly heard the insecurity in his tone – that she didn't want him, had stopped wanting him.

"I'm here, I want this." She picked his hand back up. He didn't look convinced. He awkwardly shifted from side to side, and Tris did the same. Neither were sure of what to do next.

"So? Do you want to, like, run? Or something?" Tris asked, putting up a side smirk.

"Yeah, when was the last time you went for a run?" He perked up.

"It's been a while. Like, months."

"I'll run backwards," he teased, finally pulling her in to hug her around the shoulders.

Her hair smelled a little like the city and a lot like chamomile and oats. He liked how it felt smooth against his cheek and how pieces crept out of the elastic band, rebellious like she was, but he liked her hands around his middle more. Tobias kissed her forehead, her temple, then tipped her chin up and stopped just short of touching his lips to hers. Amar was right, he realized, silently cursing and pulling back.

"Ready for a run?" he asked, suddenly eager to get space between them.

"Anything you want, I'm here," she confirmed, her determination setting in despite the sting of his hesitation.

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	20. Ch20: Everything Starts Somewhere

**Many thanks to Milner and BK2U. Hope you enjoy Chapter 20. Let me know your thoughts in the comments.**

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Four's eyes were red-rimmed and burning, his head pounding with a slight hangover. It didn't help that Therese was particularly argumentative with everyone this morning, not just him. If he didn't have the distraction of the whiteboard marker in his hand, he'd probably be yelling. Johanna had warned him about yelling.

He was trying to collect information on their numbers, an evaluation of the able-bodied in the safe houses, but it was guarded information and he was technically an outsider. If Amity was going to be expected to put together complete plans they needed to know how many factionless were willing and able to be thrown outside the fence and into the fields.

"We can't just send them out there without a head count and not knowing if they'll be useful," Four argued.

Therese was double-sided: eager to get at least a couple hundred out and contributing, but not wanting to give up their exact numbers. She thought it would help them press their causes with the council if they were seen as saving the day. When she finally gave him what he needed, the estimates were scrawled in a code at her insistence, placed safely in his pocket.

"I'll deliver it personally," he assured. "Dauntless is sending a group. I'll go with them and bring back the finals." It was second nature to him after years of organizing the squads for drills: strategy with an emphasis on control, something the former-factionless sorely needed to learn.

He had to pass Tris's floor to get up to a meeting with Johanna and the rest of the council. Jogging up the stairs two at a time, her landing was a perfect stopping point so he could stretch his legs and catch his breath. He took a few seconds to bring his heart rate down before turning the corner into her office.

She was reading through some list or report, something he assumed to be boring. Maybe it didn't even have to do with work, but to her, it was engrossing. He got the rare opportunity to watch her while she remained unaware of his observation. Her eyes were a little swollen and bloodshot; she must not have slept well the night before. It was something they had in common.

She looked nice in the faded blue of an old Erudite sweater, although he hated to admit it. And like before in the library, she tapped her nose as she read, an absentminded sign of her concentration. For a moment he didn't want to interrupt her, just watch her, but he had places to be.

He cleared his throat, rapping the side of the doorway. She looked up, dazed and eyes pinched in annoyance. The irritation stung until it was replaced by something slightly softer and a little smile.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." He'd been banging ideas around with Rafael since he'd last seen her on how to go forward. How to rebuild something that seemed so shattered.

"I'm going to be making a trip out to Amity to discuss some numbers and try to set up work teams. I was wondering if you were interested in going?" It sounded much more romantic in his head —the two of them back in the fields, escaping the everyday crap together— but now that it was off his tongue, a trip for negotiating government business was the lamest date he could ever think to put together.

"Oh, when?" she asked, the smile dropping off her face. She opened a booklet on her desk, each little day littered with tiny notes in different-colored ink.

"Tomorrow. We're sending up some Dauntless to help in the hoop houses, so there will be a group leaving at 8:15." And with that, whatever small resemblance his suggestion had to a date disappeared.

On the other side, there was some safety in numbers when it came to navigating the difficulty of controlling his emotions, but he was fairly sure he could no longer count it as a date. At the very least, it was an opportunity to be close without either one of them crying or yelling, hopefully. Because despite how well Friday went, the crying and yelling was coming.

"Oh, tomorrow." She flipped a few pages. "Yeah, I was going to meet with Ruth-Ann on Friday, but this could save her the trip into the city. I'll see if that works for her. I haven't been out there in person."

Something about her demeanor was overly rigid and distant. Four assumed it was the atmosphere of his last visit to her office tempering her enthusiasm for his presence. Or maybe she was reconsidering their decision. At the same time, he wasn't exactly jumping over the desk for a hug. He tried not to let the doubt filter his thoughts.

Hidden behind her red-rimmed eyes was an exhaustion she thought she had beaten into submission months ago. She had been a wreck all night, with one nightmare following another, each with increasing violence being enacted on her. She took two pills that morning to help her keep it together.

With her emotions numbed down below a sensible threshold, it didn't occur to her that his posture at the door was tentative and unsure, and that the tremor in his voice was his tell for how anxious her responses made him. Nor did she notice how crushed he sounded after her follow-up of "What else?" like he was just another faction leader dropping off a request.

"Nothing, Tris," was his jilted response, followed by a quick turn on his heels.

* * *

She was coming out of her chemistry coma after a long interview with an Erudite lab worker who was burned trying to stop the destruction of her life's research. Towards the end, when she was describing the pain of the burns and the complications as they healed, it was almost enough for Tris to medicate herself further. But she restrained the urge and let the woman finish uninterrupted. Tris marked the record with a blue dot, meaning she'd need to be wary when she went to transcribe the audio. It was a little too close to how her own fears had been manifesting lately.

Four had been on his way down, irritated and exhausted by the lack of discipline and adherence to decisions by Therese and the rest of the former-factionless. Worse was their lack of decorum at the council and his inability to keep himself composed, earning him another lecture from Johanna after he launched a binder at Ivan's head. He plopped his feet lazily from one stair to the next, ruminating on what he could do differently next time to move it along without the need to create a loud distraction; these meetings didn't afford him a way to fulfill the itch to move when others got mouthy.

He stepped down onto the landing of Tris's floor, the coldness of their earlier interaction deterring him for a moment. But he could see from the little window that the light was still on in her office. His hand hovered over the handle when more than one shadow moved, and he knew she wasn't alone. The watch on his wrist confirmed it was past normal hours and she probably wouldn't be long. He was eager to see if she treated him any differently outside the building, away from work, and continued the descent to wait in the lobby.

She looked even more exhausted, dazed, caught in her own mind. Her eyes were puffy and her hair slipped out of her bun and fell onto her shoulders. Her gait was slow, steady, with purpose but not determination. She didn't bother buttoning her coat with the weather getting warmer each day. She almost walked past him, two feet away, focused on some lingering thoughts about being burnt alive and the feel of the keys swinging from the crook in her index finger.

"Tris?" Four laughed, when her shoulders had fully crossed his path. He caught her jacket sleeve; she turned with the smile he'd hoped for earlier.

"Tobias, I'm sorry, I didn't see you. I was just thinking," she admitted.

"You're leaving late."

"Oh, I was just collecting some research." She tottered on the balls of her feet, waiting and glancing at the few people also making their exit around them.

"About Amity," he started, and she lit up.

"Oh, yeah. I called and it'll work perfectly. I haven't been out there since, you know." Her voice had dropped to a quiet whisper before she pulled her shoulders up and continued brightly, "It's such a long trek and things are so busy here. They usually send information in with their representatives."

"That's good, but not exactly where I was going. I kind of just wanted you to know that I know it's not a date, or anything." He stumbled over his words, pushing his hands down deep into his pockets and his shoulders up around his ears. It was suddenly hard to hold his head up in the immediate heat of the lobby.

"Oh. Okay. I see." All the joy she had fluttered away as she stuttered. Looking for a fast way to break away, she unconsciously started to turn.

He watched her in his periphery, not quite looking up: she was clearly disappointed. As he ran it over in his mind he was compelled to correct himself.

"What I mean, or meant, is that I _want_ to take you on a date, Tris. A real one. Not just, like, share a train with a bunch of people or work in the same place for a few hours."

"Oh. Yeah, I'd like that." She wasn't convinced. She felt like he was just being polite, letting her down easy. It was plain as the sun setting between the buildings, written on her face and in her shoulders that she didn't expect him to make good.

"How about now?" He answered her doubt with a challenge.

"Now?"

"Yeah, come have dinner with me."

"At Dauntless?" She half-smiled, looking puzzled and still disappointed.

He could have smacked himself, trading one group trip for a dining hall, the only place she'd really eaten with him. He wondered why asking her out properly was stupidly hard. "Yeah. Umm…In my apartment, not the dining hall. I'll cook for you."

Then he clarified with what he should have said in one sentence. "Come back with me to Dauntless, and I'll make you dinner."

"You cook?" She scoffed at him with a kind smile. "Like, more than eggs?"

"Everyone in Abnegation cooks," he reminded her with a cocky grin. "That kitchen wasn't just for show. Dauntless does have apartments without stoves."

"Well, I should tell Caleb." She paused, checked her watch. The train wasn't far off and it would be another hour before the next one.

There was the part of her that wanted to follow the logical rules of being the damaged sister and report in her whereabouts, but Tobias was her Dauntless side personified. He was staring at her, expectant and excited for the first time in months. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he checked the time, igniting the part of her that wanted to be free and impulsive.

"He'll figure it out," she dismissed, carefully putting her hand into his and letting him lead the way down the street. She was painfully aware of the way her smile pinched her cheeks tightly. Tobias looked a little more reserved, but he was still smirking. When she hitched her bag back up her shoulder she realized how much he was paying attention to her.

"Let me carry that," he insisted, peeling it up and over her head and onto his own shoulder, never breaking their hands apart.

"Thanks."

"This is stupid heavy," he exclaimed when it settled onto his shoulder. "What is all this?"

"Oh, it's just some research."

"Into what?"

She didn't know why she felt protective and self-conscious telling him about it. Maybe it was because he'd never indulged her Divergence, only sought to hide it as best he could. She knew he'd see it as a weakness when he was the only person that saw her as strong. She desperately needed him to see her as who she was when he loved her, trusted her.

"For work, logistics and capabilities and stuff."

"Ugh," he groaned. "It would be so much easier if…" He stopped himself and pinched his lips with his teeth, quelling the thought back down into his throat.

"What?" She bumped him. "Tell me. What?"

He looked at her sideways, bashful. "Why don't we have a computer system? You collect everything on paper and then it's transcribed and rewritten. It could be automated. Everyone could just punch it in from their headquarters and get printouts in return. Then the supply team could just fill requests. We could even inventory everything so we know what we have and where it's going."

"Not exactly a skill set we have at our disposal right now. Plus no one would trust _them_ to do it without setting up some secret network. We agreed to take away their access; virtually no computers beyond computational analysis."

"We don't need Erudite," he dismissed. "I could do it."

"Mmm-hmm." She smirked a little. "Not very Dauntless."

"Fuck that," he spat roughly, annoyed. "I _can_ do it."

"I'll talk to my boss," she suggested apologetically, but he still cast a glare at her that made her shrink.

Back before, he would never have exposed himself by offering up the side of him that was intelligent and capable. Back before, things had to be different. Tris underestimated him; maybe he wouldn't mind her research, her undeniable Erudite side.

"I am thinking about putting together a history of Chicago," she started, avoiding committing in full.

"Oh?" He curled his lip, a harsh look of concern on his face.

"Yeah, no one will write it but us, right? And we don't want to be erased, or forgotten, or be made to forget." She felt more confident feeling his fingers wiggle between her own.

"What, like about the war?"

"And about before. Whatever people want to talk about so long as it's from here."

"Wow."

"Not very Dauntless," she grumbled. He didn't say anything right away, just looked at his feet with a face that made her concerned.

He shrugged. "I can barely make it in my _own_ head." He squeezed her hand gently, letting her know that he was being serious.

She chirped, eager. "Maybe you should let me collect your stories. Most everyone says it helps them feel better, telling someone."

"I'll think about it." She knew instantly that he wouldn't. His guard was up, face unreadable. Her excitement was squelched.

"Train is late," was the best he could say. He dropped her hand so he could look at his watch then shoved it into his pocket and leaned against a light pole.

"So, why are you staying in Dauntless?" she asked, hoping to work her way back to his more open side.

"It's where I belong," he said mechanically.

"Even though you were going to go factionless before?"

"Things are different now. The leadership has changed and it's not some witch hunt for the Divergent. It's back to what it should be."

"What's that?"

"Being selfless to the city's need for security and safety." Four the philosopher; she enjoyed how he always sought meaning and purpose in something as small as a tattoo or as big as his loyalty to his home. But that home had been split and divided too easily in her mind.

"Submission isn't far from subjugation," she challenged, letting him know that she had her own thoughts about her faction.

"It's about submitting through choice and shared vision." He didn't mind her challenges. He liked the way she looked when her mind was turning and thoughts were flying. He relaxed, letting his shoulders fall: he had one simple question he needed to sort out. "You worried about coming back?"

"I don't think I can cut it anymore," she admitted. "My surgeon said it could be a year before my muscles fully adhere." He didn't like her doubt, her resignation. It was cheating the determination he knew she had.

"We could train together. You'll get stronger," he offered.

"I don't think my shoulder would appreciate getting my ass kicked. Especially by you." She tried it as a joke, but he winced and made her regret it.

"Neither does my hand, but I'm still going to try."

"That's different," she stated.

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I might fail." She implied that he wouldn't.

"I might, too," he chuckled, a little lighter. "At least Amar seems to think so."

It bothered him, the constant pestering about his inability to get back to standards. When he and Amar had trained, drilled members then initiates together, he felt powerful and valued. But when Amar suggested he stick to the bureaucracy of government work, he felt just the opposite. In the similarities to his current pestering of Tris, he wondered if it was Amar being doubtful or trying to light a fire that would make him successful.

"You're the best fighter, the most fearless, probably one of the smartest. How could you fail?"

The train pulled up and the crowd of blue and white circled around them, he took her hand and pushed a path for them into the metal box.

"Walk or jump?" He asked, leaving the decision up to her. He'd been alternating, his ankle less than trustworthy, but his pride almost equally important when members were around.

"Walk." She paused; this was a Dauntless night. "No, I want to jump." It was a success, he thought. It was fire.

* * *

She knew the way to his apartment, the hallways still so familiar for a place where she had barely lived. She doubted she would ever forget the crumbling paths out of the Pit or the dust that lined the hallways.

She had forgotten how intimidating the pierced faces and tattooed bodies could be when they opened up in enthusiastic and excited greetings. Her actions in shutting down the sim were hardly forgotten.

He muttered something like an apology just prior to turning the doorknob, key unneeded. Rafael was sitting, feet up on the table, a drink in one hand and a book in the other.

"You know, we're out of rum," he stated before looking up. "Oh, company."

"Out," Four said with a rounded and commanding tone.

"Where should I go?" he responded in jest, quickly snapping the book shut and setting the glass down. His carefree attitude broke a smile across Four's face.

"Find Zeke, or Lauren, I don't care. Out," he ordered, pushing his feet off the table.

"Keep my side warm, will ya?" Rafael smirked on his way out.

"What? Side of what?" she asked; Four was already red. He closed his eyes, like not seeing her would make the red dissipate faster.

"He means side of the bed." When he opened his eyes her face looked somewhat horrified.

"That wasn't my intention for asking you here."

"Yeah, that's hardly keeping things _calm,_" she said, using his words.

He needed her to not be looking at him, and needed to not feel like a pervert for the thoughts that just went through his head, so he turned her around and took her coat, setting it on a hook by the door. He put his up next to it before removing his shoes.

"So, you and what's his name?" she asked following suit.

"Rafael." He stepped into the kitchen. "He's going to Amity tomorrow. Getting him out of my apartment, hopefully for good."

He pulled out two chicken breasts, a quarter of cabbage that he'd been slowly working into his meals to satisfy Janice, and two already-baked potatoes.

"And you're sleeping together?" He almost snapped back a quick defense, but caught the joking snicker. "I mean, he's not really _my_ type," she continued, "but if you're into that whole short-guy thing, I get it. Big spoon, and all."

He could hear Christina's influence on her and chortled out a jesting response. "He's a good guy. Keeps his hands to himself, most of the time." He slid the knife easily through the meat. "Can you get a pan, bottom cupboard?"

"If I get the pan then you'll ask me to turn on the heat then add the chicken, and that won't count as you cooking."

"Ha, ha. The pan," he ordered. This was the type of fun they never got to have. The type that you only get when life isn't exciting and you have to make it interesting.

She watched him carve the filets with easy motions, wondering for a moment if this is what he cooked for Marcus or if Marcus ever cooked for him; if he'd ever truly been cared for or if he'd always been on his own with the monster. Her thoughts were sad and invaded by questions she didn't think he'd answer.

"Did you know that every pound of beef from a cow takes twenty pounds of grain to grow? But twenty pounds of grain grows fifteen pounds of chicken? That's why we have so much more poultry in our diets. Efficiency." She set the pan on the stove.

"Really taking this research thing to heart," he mused, salting the chunks lightly.

"It was important to understand why Amity was cutting back on the cattle stock. Without all the people to grow the food, there's just not enough to go around. Unfortunately, they now have the added difficulty of preserving the genetic diversity of the remaining herds to avoid future problems when they expand for the inevitable population surge that comes from opening the gates." She stopped. "And you don't care, do you?" She giggled and smiled.

"I don't mind learning something if I have to, as long as you're the one saying it."

But the truth was he did mind. A big part of him rejected that Erudite side of her; the brutality of the experiments on both of them kept fresh in the round-robin of his nightmares. He had to concentrate to keep the monster down inside and not flying out his mouth in short dismissals.

She wasn't satisfied talking about nothing just to fill the air. "Tell me something you've never told me."

"About what?"

She saw the stiffness, but she needed things from him. She needed to fill in the gap she made between them.

"What did you do in Milwaukee?"

He took a deep breath and let it out, the gurgle of his stomach like a growl from his nerves. "I lived in a work camp and I built roads. It was basically living factionless."

"And your hand?"

"Work accident." He'd said it so many times, he hoped it sounded convincing.

"How?"

"Pinched off," he said, fearing he was a little too short for her to believe him. She mistook it as misplaced pride for some silly action or chain of events that resulted in his dismemberment. For a second, she let the idea of him being clumsy play the role of explanation, but the silence that spanned after his response raised her suspicions.

"And Rafael?" She changed the subject.

"Met him on the bus up to Milwaukee." Trying to avoid any more questions, he remembered Zeke's advice. "What's it like living with Caleb?"

"Oh, it's good. He really looked after me. Still does," she mumbled.

"What does he do now?"

"He works on vaccines and pharmaceuticals. Cara got him the position."

"How is she?" he asked. They went through a back and forth of the few people they had in common. He caught her up on Amar and George, she on Cara and some of the surviving Abnegation, like Susan. He told her about the Dauntless, some she knew, some she didn't.

"How's Matthew?" he asked as he turned the chicken. It was just another name they had in common.

Tris tensed up. She didn't answer quickly or naturally, but with defensive finality. "Fine."

"You guys get in a fight or something?" It was his turn to press, to fill in that gap with what he wanted to know.

"Or something," she admitted, gripping the counter she leaned against with her hands. She didn't want to say anything else, but it didn't seem fair given what she wanted from him. "I mean, you want the truth, right? That's what we do now?"

"Yeah." His heart was speeding up, his palms sweating and his conscience well aware that he'd already lied.

"I, umm, I had a thing. With him." Her lip quivered when she said it, eyes glassy, her hand moving to pull her sweater tighter at the top even though it covered her collarbones. Four realized in an instant where her insecurities about the scar came from sparking a wave of indignation, like he himself had been insulted.

"It wasn't very long or meaningful, but it happened." Her eyes were locked into a pleading stare when she met his eyes. "Are you going to judge me?"

She closed her eyes, the red flush spreading across her face. It was instant, the realization that she had slept with him. Every part of him wanted to judge her, _harshly_. Wanted to throw their upbringing and her fear back in her face. But then what would she say to him if she ever knew the depths of his own depravity? Briefly he recalled the flecked bruises on Matilda's hips.

"No," he lied, tossing the truth completely out. She stayed tense, but dropped her gaze down to her feet.

"Did you, um, see anyone? In Milwaukee?"

"Yes." His response was eagerly ready on his lips.

It was a small admission that made him feel vindictive and satisfied at the hurt that crossed her face, but he misread it. She was grimacing in recognition of the double-standard between their sexes, and how swiftly she cleared him of any wrong but held herself condemned. They both let the bitterness of silence spread through the apartment.

"Here, sit." He pulled out a plate and served her a portion, setting it down in front of her. He grabbed silverware and his own plate, then took his place across from her.

"This isn't going to be easy, but I'm willing to do it," he offered. It was the best response he could muster to alleviate the tension between them.

"Hard work." She smiled sullenly, noting he pushed his right hand under the table, away from view. His chicken was already cut so he could take up a single utensil. It was a lot of forward thinking and preparation so that she wouldn't see his hand.

"Why do you throw right-handed?"

"I do a lot of things ambidextrously. Marcus never liked me being a lefty. Insisted I was too much like my mother, which didn't make much sense at the time." Another topic that didn't bring up the happiest of memories. "Anyhow, when we had to learn to throw knives, I just copied Amar and he's right-handed."

"Do you think you'd be better with your left?" she asked.

"Hard to be better." He smiled with the cockiness she'd expect from Four. "Do you miss Dauntless?"

"Yes, and no." She took a bite of the predictable standard on her plate; it tasted like her childhood. "I miss being around the people, my friends, the freedom. The cake." She chuckled and he smiled back at her. "But I wasn't ever really a member, so how can I miss what I didn't have?"

"What job would you have chosen?"

"Working in leadership, probably. Something with the other factions where I could be smart and curious and not be betraying the faction, maybe avoid getting caught." She crunched on a sliver of cabbage, taking pleasure in the crispness and the tang of being uncooked. Caleb cooked everything nearly to mush. "What exactly was your job? What did it mean, to work in the control room?" she asked. "Sounded boring to me."

"It could be," he recalled with a shrug. "I thought most initiates thought it sounded cool. The control room was just half of the job. The facilities department is responsible for the control room, and the plumbing, and the electrical, and doors and stuff. So I spent half the time pulling up street cameras to catch a kid steeling apples or figuring out who started a fight in the Pit, and the other half I painted walls and installed appliances. It's why Max tried so hard to get me into leadership. Facilities sort of fell below patrols on the list of desirable positions. So I ran drills and then initiation to get him off my back."

"So next time my toilet breaks?"

He laughed. "Yeah, give me a call. I'm good with a plunger."

"Why didn't you join patrol if it was higher?"

"I could never handle the monotony of marching around the same places over and over. I would have gone insane."

They filled their meal with quiet conversation that failed to tread anywhere near the necessary hard work they promised to put in. Admitting dalliances while they were apart was sufficiently difficult for a bland chicken dinner. Eventually, they just discussed matters of supplies for the former-factionless and the overall goal of integrating them into the system as fairly as possible.

Before the final train could pass, Four put their plates in the sink and pulled her jacket down off the hook, helping her into it and pulling her hair out from under the collar. She turned and collided with him, startling them both into a nervous laugh.

Four sighed and ran his hands up her shoulders and the sides of her neck; she held her breath. He held her face between his hands, knowing they wouldn't get much time alone, but he couldn't help himself. The gentle pinch of her lips gripping onto his was as electric as he remembered. Tobias had convinced himself that his memories were false, that no kiss could ever feel like it both gave and took life at the same time. But it was every bit as potent as he remembered.

The pause and purse of their tentative rhythm made his chest ache for something less chaste, for another way to claim her as his. Some way to remind her that she belonged with him and him alone. But he kept his hands on her neck and around her shoulders, fixing her into his embrace, only stopping to stifle the spread of her hands underneath his shirt.

* * *

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**Who's excited for Amity?**


	21. Ch 21: Amity

**Beta reader: Milner; Grammar checker: BK2U**

**Also, I just read a fic called 'Danger to us all' by Lyetta, an alternate ending to the first book - I liked it, maybe you will too. Go read and let her know what you think.**

* * *

Tris wondered who had installed benches in the train cars. The wooden seats still had rough edges, not yet worn by the city's new commuters. She picked at the splinters, leaning back against the cool metal wall; the vibration irritated her shoulder. Tris leaned forward then decided to stand, every muscle in her body feeling freshly burned; it had only been a day since she went running around her neighborhood. She leaned against the pole and felt the sting in her thighs as she braced against the change in momentum. She half expected Tobias to come through the doors at the last stop, but he didn't.

She moved to the window, knelt on the bench and looked out, but she couldn't see anyone ahead at Dauntless. She had a sudden doubt that he'd come, but dismissed it when a few bodies stepped out of the shadows, two looking tentative and unsure, one obviously a female. All she needed was to watch them start moving to know he wasn't among them.

She pressed the button for them, one less danger on the jump. She turned to the side to allow each body onto the train. One, two, three, four; she hovered her hand over the button watching the usable ground pass by, then Tobias pulled himself in at last, surprising her out of her disappointment.

She looked at him strangely, his voice joining the others with breathless laughs as they complained about the loads they were carrying. He told them to suck it up as he hit the button to close the door, then gave a sideways smirk to Lauren while each of them unloaded a heavy bag with a clunk on the floor. He kicked at the straps, before turning to stand next to Tris. She took him in; the scent of mint and sausage was overpowering when he peeled off his jacket, already too warm. He had a white, long-sleeved shirt peeking out under his black. She'd noted the pattern over the last weeks; he had been dressing in layers ever since he'd come back—not quite Dauntless.

"I almost missed." He laughed a little bashfully, looking at his watch like it was wrong. She liked how his hand found her hip when he pressed his lips to her forehead, the energy of last night's kiss still reverberating through her chest.

"Oooh," Lauren cat-called and Tobias froze, taking a deep breath in annoyance. "Oh, come on, Four. Use some tongue." Lauren laughed and the others chuckled. Tris didn't recognize them, but she recognized the glare he shot back.

Tobias shifted his shoulders and rolled his eyes, bored with the comment, before sitting with his hand gripping the back of Tris's leg while she stayed leaning against the pole.

"They asked for bodies, we're sending the only ones we can spare," Four explained, getting Lauren's crinkled nose in response. He waved at her dismissively. "You know Lauren and Rafael. That's Stew, and Sari. They're going to help set up the greenhouses for the spring plant."

She recognized Rafael only slightly. His hair was different, shaved under and styled up more Dauntless. The faction was wearing off on him.

"Rafael, does this mean you made a decision?" Tris asked, trying not to react to the pleasure of Tobias's gentle massaging of her leg.

"He's still thinking about taking the test," Four said, interrupting what started as an emphatic yes from Rafael. "Thought it would be good for him to see a few factions before he does." Then, with a pointed glance not lost on Rafael, he added, "And it gets him out of my apartment."

"You'll miss the cuddles," Rafael shot back.

Tris flinched, eyeing Four and expecting a reaction: some sort of squelching or bark in front of the other members. But Tobias laughed, and Lauren didn't seem to think it was odd, though Sari seemed just as ill at ease as Tris. She wondered if this was what he was like naturally, and not just with her when they were alone. Her thoughts drifted to that morning in Abnegation when they shared eggs from a can with people they hardly knew. She had never realized how natural it was for him, and she felt consumed by curiosity, wanting to see more of what he'd kept hidden in initiation.

When he caught Tris looking at him like an exhibit, Four straightened up a little, pulling on her pant leg so she fell against him. He locked his hand around her waist, securing her on the seat next to him, then moved his arm up around her shoulder.

"Oh, now that's too far," Lauren cringed, playfully. "Robot-human interactions are just disgusting." But Four wasn't paying attention to Lauren. He pressed his forehead into Tris's shoulder and inhaled deeply. After killing her three times in last night's terrors, he needed the warmth from her to prove he'd woken up. She smelled intoxicating, soothing.

The way he was holding her was the first time she could get a good view of his hand. The white scar extended across the knuckle and disappeared down the heel, past her view. He'd been self-conscious about it, but it was starting to fade from the front of his thoughts into his daily routine. She tried not to seem like she was staring.

"Didn't you two...?" Stew commented, pointing between Lauren and Four. After a confused look from Lauren, he clarified, "Weren't you together?"

Tris looked over at Lauren instantly; Lauren shrugged dismissively. "For a bit. We split up like almost a year ago. We're better as friends." Tris blinked, barreling through a series of emotions that started with indignation, lingering through jealousy, before settling into feeling betrayed.

Four's grip on her tightened a little, caught in his first omission. He took a deep breath and hoped she'd just forget about it. Tris patted his arm and gently warned him, "Don't squeeze my shoulder."

He could tell from the stiffness in her body that she was annoyed, even though she waited a full minute before she shifted and stood up. But the silence between them made it clear that it was connected. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes, feeling more dread than the surfacing of a white lie should bring.

Lauren tugged a pouch out of an inner pocket, picking something out and eating it."Hey," Four called over. They had a silent exchange of expressions and gestures that resulted in her tossing something across for him to catch in his mouth. "She's got peanuts. Want some?" he asked Tris, hoping to move her past her mood by showing off a little. She shook her head, feeling out of place in what was a closer friendship than she'd assumed. Lauren threw him another, this one popping off his cheek and bouncing off his palms as he tried to catch it. She threw him another that wasn't as much trouble. He gave up when Tris rolled her eyes.

Lauren and Stew talked back and forth, unheard over the rattle of the train while Four kept his eyes out the window, drawing comparisons to the long bus ride. Sari was asleep in a ball in the corner, and Rafael looked nervously out the window and back at Four every so often, who was seemingly amused at the distress. Tris felt left out of some inside joke between them.

"Ready to jump?" Stew asked Rafael, who was still hobbled by scabs from his last attempt.

Tris watched Tobias stand up, something a little off and stiff in his movements, and saw the relaxed kid harden back into Four as they all donned their packs. The minor limp he carried for the first two yards off the train confirmed he was injured, but his posture limited how free she could be with her questions. This was the Tobias she'd known: guarded, concealed, carefully crafted, a leader. It was also her first chance to see the tattoo on his neck; she felt conflicted and confused when she recognized it.

They walked forward along the well-worn path from the tracks towards the gate. From her perspective, she could see the weapons tucked into a holster on the back of his belt, just below the backpack. The sound of the gravel and the smell of the fields tickled a memory forward, but the glaring sun held it to just a recollection. She wondered if she should have taken an extra pill, but nothing horrible had happened at Amity, just around it. And not during the day. Plus, there were Dauntless soldiers milling around the gate and on top of the wall, creating a constant clanking and subtle clamor distinct from that desolate night.

"What are they guarding now?" Rafael asked, feeling uncomfortable with all the rifle barrels up at the top of the wall.

"Us. You know, better ready than dead," Four commented. Rafael looked around wide-eyed. Tris snuffed her curiosity, seeing Lauren and the others not respond.

"You really coming back to Dauntless?" Lauren asked, matching strides with Tris while Four and Stew moved ahead to talk with the guards at the gate.

"I guess. We'll see if I pass drills."

"Number one initiate, should be no problem."

"I wouldn't put your money on it." She eyed the back of Four's head. "But he disagrees."

"Eh, he can't pass right now, either. But we let him stick around," she joked. "I'm sure there could be some exceptions. You know, time for you to train up or something."

"Four can't pass drills?"

"Well, not so far, and Amar doesn't think he will with that hand. But he's got time. They gave him the loyalty check first and the rest I think is on his own schedule." She paused, "I don't think he's made it through a sim yet, either."

Gossip still made Tris uncomfortable.

Four turned back and waved them forward, the gate opening for them and a truck coming back. He let a smile flick up the corners of his lips before turning back to lead them all through. They hopped on the truck, sitting in the back on sacks of supplies all the way out to the familiar hoop houses and the budding orchards. The scent of mint rose and fell as they crushed over the sprigs that attempted to reclaim the road.

A friendly, familiar face peeked up over the side of the truck as it came to a stop. A tall boy with fuzzy and disconnected tufts of hair on his chin unlatched the gate and lowered it with a broadening grin.

"Robert!" Tris greeted, and his face lit up at her recognition. It was Four's turn to make observations for later discussions as the strong-shouldered boy wrapped his arms around his girl and helped her to the ground in an easy motion. "It's been so long!" She gripped his elbows as they exchanged pleasantries with broad smiles and an easy cadence.

"How is Susan?" he asked immediately, and Four put it together with a faded memory.

"Oh, she seems to be doing just fine. Very busy taking care of all the former-factionless and fixing up Abnegation. She's helping to put a memorial garden in place in the spring. I bet she could use some Amity help with the bushes and flowers."

His face brightened. "That's a great idea. I think she avoids me, takes that 'faction before blood' thing very seriously."

"Yeah, some still do," Four confirmed pointedly as he stepped up next to her, drawing her attention back from the distraction of her old friend.

"Robert, can you point me in the right direction? I'm here to meet with Ruth-Ann and Josiah. Which way?" He pointed and she gave him a quick smile before heading in that direction. Four didn't like the way Robert's eyes followed her.

"What about you?" Robert asked, eyes coming back to meet Four's stare. "Where do you need to go?"

Four walked past him, telling himself that he didn't need to be jealous of Amity boys. He took the two Dauntless and Rafael to the tool barn on the edge of the fields where Rich and Walt were running a makeshift dispatch and repair for the heavy trucks and tractors. Rich was Amity and Walt was factionless, but they grew up together in the fields and had an easy friendship which made Four's life much easier. Walt had been back and forth doing most of the legwork until Therese stopped trusting his loyalties. Four collected the packs from each person, setting them on the table, and started to unpack.

"Rich?" Four called, seeing the man's legs digging into the ground for purchase while he wrenched under a truck. "I have workers for you."

The man wiggled his hips back and forth, scraping himself from beneath the undercarriage. He looked at them from his upside down perspective, eyes narrowed and evaluating. Then he smiled. "Is that so? Welcome. You look strong enough; we sure can use more young backs to do some of the lifting." He finished hauling himself up, then called over a younger boy, not old enough to be a member, who took off with Four's friends to the bunk house.

"Are these them?" Rich picked up one of the little block cameras and turned it over, pinched between two fingers like it might bite him.

"Yeah, twenty four and a receiver," Four nodded, lining them up. "You have places picked out for them?"

"Yeah. There are some obvious ones, like water treatment. But we kind of don't have the best ideas for this. Not normal to sneak around, let alone try to think about preventing it."

"Yeah, guess that's why I'm here." Four took a packet and started to go over the map, then started visiting each of the sites, adding, removing, moving, marking the angles. When he was satisfied, he began installing.

He had to borrow a ladder that looked older than most of the people coming and going through the greenhouses. It swayed with each step, the bolts not exactly supportive with one leg shorter than the other. He tilted and tipped, each close call leaving him breathless. But he systematically put one foot over the other and installed each camera, pressing the little button when the small solar panel was in place.

He was surprised by the heat that bore down on him as the work took him past midday. The cool shade of their main building was as welcome as the cold water that drizzled out of the water fountain. He found the back office, the room where all their communication lines came in from the city, and quickly added the receiver, flicking through each camera on the monitor.

He reluctantly returned to the still air of the hot garage, nudging Rich back out from under the vehicle.

"So, let's talk numbers skill sets," Four started. The conversation was relatively quick, easy, and made him wish he could toss Therese under the train.

Rich had a collection of notes that he summarized from memory and then provided. Easy, organized, and reassuring that Four wasn't crazy in his expectations. Rich popped open a cooler and pulled out a cold glass bottle of water, pouring them both a cup. While he politely conversed, Rich finished off his glass and excused himself back under the truck.

Four didn't know how much longer Tris would take, but his stomach was empty and the dining hall seemed to still be serving. A chicken sandwich with root vegetable mash and a slice of bread was doled out to him with an emphatic smile. He tried to refuse the bread when they reached out to put it on his plate, but they insisted on giving him two slices after his gruff statements. Four sat staring at his nearly empty plate, the sandwich long eaten and only the slices of bread remaining. He contemplated, picking one up and setting it back down, thought about it some more, then took a bite. A little kindness couldn't hurt with Tris. Before he knew it, he'd finished it all.

He milled around outside the barns helping load trucks as they pushed out to the fields with supplies. He found it comforting, fulfilling, the thanks he got exactly in the right tone of voice and sincerity. The appreciation swelled around him, bombarding him like insistent flies. He started to regret the bread as he tried to shake the warmth out of his core and shrug off the sudden and unusual sense of wellbeing. He felt odd and uncomfortable.

Four stretched out on a stack of straw bales to see if he could wait it out. He watched Robert toss a stick out twenty feet for a little yellow dog to bring back. It didn't occur to Four why he'd be exercising the animal instead of turning compost. If this was his faction, he'd put him back to work with a sharp statement. But he wasn't in Dauntless, and Robert wasn't his responsibility. Even so, he wanted to push him a little for sweeping Tris off the truck. But something about the way the dog bounced, like its feet had springs, made him smile, made him feel something he couldn't blame entirely on toast.

"Hey, Robert?" he called, focusing on holding a straight face, a lowered tone.

"Yeah, Four, is it?" Robert smiled back, watching the dog dance back and forth waiting for the stick.

"What's the deal with the dog?"

"Oh, Buck? Just a plain ol' dog." He looked back at him curiously. "Do the Dauntless have dogs?"

"Not many." He only knew of a few cats that they kept in the storerooms as mouse control.

"Yeah, we didn't have them in Abnegation, either. I transferred," he explained, but Four had already figured that out.

"What does he do?" Four had to fight hard against the smile that pressed into the corners of his cheeks. With concentration, he managed to glare back at the deep brown eyes.

"Um, he eats, drinks, plays." He smiled. "Here, throw the stick. It's crazy how happy it makes him."

He took it and Robert stepped back to watch, urging him with a motion that had the dog momentarily confused. So Four did. It felt silly before it turned addictive. The little dog bounced up and down then raced out and came rushing back. When Robert returned to his work, Four expected the dog to run off after him or scamper away, but it kept coming back and racing out and coming back. He wondered how long it would go before it wouldn't run anymore.

Tris found a dozen Amity, all laughing and pointing around a dust storm. And Tobias, circling behind the little creature grabbing at it with both hands and chasing it in a shuffling dust cloud. Immediately, she started forward to intervene, before she recognized his actions as being playful and pulled up to watch.

Tobias picked at the dog's legs with snapping hands so that it spun and barked then tossed a stick only for the animal to bound out and back, dodging the outstretched hands that threatened its prize. Tobias was dripping in sweat, down to a tank top after discarding his layers.

A little boy in Amity commented and was chastised, something about a guard dog being human, for once. The derogatory reference to Dauntless felt out of place for Amity.

It seemed the day was packed with little surprises. The first was the relaxed nature and the exuberant smile he had while he played with a creature so small and seemingly frustrating. The next was that he was stripped down to a tank top, the Dauntless flames peeking out above the neckline in the back, which might have been a feature of the design. Unaware of her watching and of the spectacle he was providing, unhidden and unguarded, she noted how lanky he was. The definition between his muscles was like a stone carving and the reach of his limbs seemed inhuman. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, foolishly dancing around the dog.

He caught sight of her mid-spin and stumbled to a stop on his knees. He got a lick or two to the face before he could push Buck back down and regain his footing. The small group dissipated upon seeing her take his attention.

"You made a friend. I'll mark it on the calendar," she teased.

He put his hands on his knees to suck in more air, his stomach growling painfully. "I think I should get one of these. It's a good workout." His carefree laugh brought a chuckle out of her.

She sighed, inhaling deeply. "Well, I'm all done."

"Me, too." He punctuated his declaration by sending the stick flying one last time, far, but not far enough, to keep the dog from prancing back. Four ignored Buck as he jumped up at him expecting a chase, choosing to evaluate the curve of Tris's side where the moist air pressed the fabric against her skin instead. Four tugged Tris to him and quickly pecked her cheek and then her lips, letting his tongue push through and feeling her collapse into him. Her arms circled his waist before finding his jaw and pushing him back a little.

Four laughed, kissing her lips quickly and repeatedly as she squirmed with a giggle from his sticky arms.

"What's gotten into you? I think you should calm down," she teased, nervously glancing at a cat caller by one of the barns.

"Oh, let it go. It's a nice day, and God, when do we ever get nice days?" He tugged her back in and pushed her hair behind her ears, insisting against her halfhearted protest for another kiss.

"You're a mess. And people are watching." She pulled her face away from him, trying to get him to focus, but didn't pull back entirely.

"Guys can't help but look at pretty girls." He shrugged and she stretched up on her toes, kissing him gently and relishing the way he picked her up off the ground to make them both even. "I may be a mess, but you still have to put up with me." He let her slide down onto her own feet.

The dog bounded behind them as they made their way to the row of departing trucks. Tobias snatched his shirts and carried them in one hand, his other tickling her sides or splaying across her back, never letting his hand leave her for more than a moment. Just before getting on the truck he quickly pulled one on, sopping up the mixture of sweat and dirt. Doubt crept in when he saw her coy smile — he couldn't tell if it was still the bread or if it was actually him she was smiling at. Another grumble from his stomach gave him a little hope.

Tobias perched on the tailgate, pushing himself as far back as he could, hooking his heels on the divot at the edge. The rest of the truck bed was filled up with boxes of vegetables from the storerooms. There was just enough room for her to either sit in front of him or to his side; she chose to wiggle in-between his knees, held in position by his sticky arms and her elbows over his thighs. She kicked her legs in the open air and looked back at him with a smile.

They were perfectly alone, but the engine was too loud for conversation. Tobias pulled her hair to the side so he could kiss her neck, knowing it wasn't the most appropriate or convenient place for affection, but not caring, either. He would normally be more reserved about affection, but only the driver trailing them by 100 feet could see them.

Everything from her smile on the train to cradling her along the bumpy route matched his idea of a perfect day, one that shouldn't be spoiled by restraint. And if his sudden boldness was fueled by bread and not his hormones, he wasn't about to let the opportunity to finally crack the wall between them go unused. He held her tighter when her back curled and arched against his chest. Her hand gripped his shoulder, holding him, then slipped up his neck and found his jaw, fingers hooked in his hair. He indulged fully in a series of fantasies, each one acted out on a new inch of exposed skin, feeling the vibration of a moan or a word lost before it hit his ears. Her arm snaked behind him and grabbed at his back like she was anchoring herself to him.

He glanced to the side, out at the fields, noting the looming gates in the distance and pecked his salutations onto her cheek, her ear, then worked hard to banish his fantasies to the back of his mind. He needed every second to calm himself down, his mind fighting each mundane image or reminder with a vivid want. Tris relaxed, unlatching, giving a little space between them when she leaned forward; the sudden cold helped. He snickered, pleased with himself over the purple bruise forming just above her shirt collar on the back of her shoulder.

They weren't alone on the train. A patrol shift of ten Dauntless soldiers was on its way back to headquarters, packing the train and distracting Four with idle conversation. Zeke and his patrol jumped on at the mid point, and he chatted quietly with Tris, taking her full attention with his animated statements and easy smile. Four kept an eye on her, glancing over every dozen miles to make sure she was still content.

Four bristled when Zeke clearly glanced down at Tris's butt then winked at him when they were lining up to fling themselves out onto the gravel by the loading docks. He wasn't used to feeling like his best friend was more of an enemy, finding it harder to shrug off than he'd like to admit. And doubting how much kindness he had left to give for the day, the thought of being back to himself, back to being Four, struck him with a wave of remorse. He'd eat a slice an hour if it would make things easy with Tris.

Four came to a rough, jarring stop and stood still while his ankle twinged. He pretended to watch the rest of the group land and the train pull away while he worked to stymie his grimace and evaluate the sting. Tris looked a little pained as she joined him, carefully looping her fingers in his. He jerked his hand away, roughly, just trying to bear the momentary pain, taking a breath and mumbling an apology without explanation. She nodded, deflated, and joined Zeke to walk instead.

He followed behind them; moving helped to work out the spiking ache but it couldn't take the constricting worry out of his chest. He stepped a little longer to make up the ground and settled into pace with Tris. Just inside the door she peeled off down a side hallway, smiling a little and walking backwards.

"And where are we going?" Four asked, looking at his watch; it was nearly five-thirty.

"To your apartment," she commanded sternly. "We need to talk."

He stopped, apprehensive at the tone in her voice. He wasn't certain if she meant to admonish him about Lauren, but the prospect threatened to ruin what was an amazing day, so he redirected. "I don't know about you, but I could use some food."

He started back down the main hallway and she reluctantly followed to the dining hall. Tris was visibly disappointed instead of frustrated or angry, making Four second guess if he'd read her right. The ideas from the truck crept forward for a moment, fueling a sense of selfish regret.

She watched while he placed two servings of chicken on his tray and a small helping of green beans. He passed the bread, cake and fruit quickly before picking a place in the middle of a table next to a few others that he could count on for lengthy conversations and stories that didn't involve him. Tris was merely placating, at first, but her interest in their history took over and soon she was wishing she had her recorder with her.

Eventually, the others excused themselves and Four was very much alone with Tris, very much himself, and suddenly frightened of the hundred pound girl sitting across from him.

"It wasn't fair, what you did on the truck," she pouted, and he grinned a little.

"You didn't seem to mind," he responded, glancing around before deciding this was a safe place for a conversation — somewhat public, but still able to be private.

"So, you and Lauren?" she asked pointedly, crossing her arms.

"Oh, that." He paused, started, hesitated, and stopped before admitting, "We didn't really date."

"You said this was all new to you." There was genuine hurt there, more than she let on. Four's heart flared into action and the adrenaline coursed; he could feel the entire day slipping away.

"Okay. To be fair, I went on a lot of double dates with Zeke, and I told you about that. Lauren was one of them, and she and I became friends. Then she saved me from Zeke's incessant need to find me a girlfriend by pretending we were dating." Tris's stare was hard, unyielding. "Eventually, she found someone she liked and we called it off — not that anything came of it for her. But the most we ever did was kiss." His face was red, his eyes earnest.

"Oh, is that all?" She didn't believe him.

"Yeah, it is. She's a friend. And besides, she's a Candor transfer. You don't want to date one of those." He was losing hope that he could get a laugh out of her and reclaim the smile he had put on her face earlier. He slid his hand across the table, and tapped her toe with his boot. "You can ask her yourself. Just don't mention it to Zeke. I don't think he'd find it funny."

"Uh-huh." Her disbelief was softening slightly.

"Why? You jealous?" he asked, prideful at the thought that he could make her feel that way.

"No," she said sharply. "Just surprised you didn't mention it."

"Didn't seem important, a fake relationship." He nudged her foot again. "What about you and Robert? Looked cozy."

"He was my neighbor growing up," she reminded him. "Susan's brother. You and Zeke get that tattoo together? I saw he had the same one on the train."

Four reached up and rubbed his neck. "It's a family thing. The whole clan is getting it."

"Oh, so they're your family now." She tried to sound neutral, feeling something closer to being replaced, in actuality.

"Yeah. Hana has a thing for strays." He smiled quickly and let his eyes fall to his hand on the table.

"What's up with your ankle?" She lined her fingertips between his.

"Hmm?" He played dumb.

"You were limping today."

"Sprained it a while back. I just landed funny. It's nothing."

"Is it hurting you in drills?" she probed.

Any playfulness evaporated, but he was still focused on staying relaxed while still trying desperately to be Tobias. "If we're not going to hide the truth, we shouldn't dance around the questions, either."

"Fine. Lauren said you're having trouble with drills."

"I just barely made weight, so I haven't really started yet. I've got four weeks to pass or I'm out."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"Life isn't fair," he reminded her. "Doesn't change how the rules work."

"Can I help?"

He laughed. "Come work out with me more often. It would keep me from killing Amar and get you back into shape."

"Will it be as hard as initiation?"

"It'll be harder. But I'll be nicer." He tapped the nail of her index finger.

"I have a job."

"So, come in the evenings." He liked the idea of seeing her every night and the potential that came with that.

"Do I really have to do the landscape, or is Amar just trying to scare me?"

"Eventually. Soon." Another tap, then he let his finger tip slide past her knuckle to the back of her hand. He smiled softly, realizing he could be nice; he had it in him to be nice.

She felt a shiver down her spine, a tingle in her toes. Biting her lip, she wished he'd taken her back to his room. "So, will you?" He continued to draw shapes with his fingertips, watching her eyes broaden and the unmistakable look of want filter into her expression.

"I'll think about it. I'm not sure about every night, but I can talk to my boss and see about leaving early some days and staying late others," she confirmed, attempting to grip his hand; he pulled back quickly. "Sorry. I um, I thought… I guess I should go home, get out of your hair. It's been a long day," she said softly, taking stock of her things and starting to pull away. He groaned.

"Tris, it's not you. Seriously." He pulled her tray back onto the table, rougher than he intended and turned his glare to the entrance of the room. "Harrison is across the room, watching. I'd hold your hand in a heartbeat if I could, but he's not a fan."

"Yeah, okay," she sulked. He sucked on his teeth and tapped her index fingernail, getting her to look up at him. She smiled back, seeing his assuring grin.

"There's a train in ten, but only if you want it." She sighed and nodded. He took her tray for her.

"Welcome back, Tris," Harrison said coldly as they passed.

"Thanks." She smiled defiantly.

"Good luck with drills," he taunted her. Four gave him a warning glance as he walked by. "Careful, Four."

Four waited for them to be out of sight, down the hall. He pulled her to his side, slinging his arm around her shoulder, and kissed her temple just to prove to her how he felt.

"Let's just get through this, one day at a time. It'll be okay. Like today, that was pretty good, right?" he said as he rubbed her arm.

"Yeah. Pretty good," she answered as she reluctantly made her way to the train.


	22. Ch22: Double Standards

**Milner provided excellent hand holding. BK2U the grammar guide. And many thanks to those of you that have reviewed. If you haven't, consider letting me know your thoughts in the box below.**

* * *

"Harrison wants to see you," Amar stated, pausing briefly in the doorway while flipping through a chart on top of his folders.

Four shut the pages of the case file he was filling out for a theft at Candor and paused the footage he'd forgotten about on the monitor. He looked at the other two cases currently open on his desk and grabbed them, just in case Harrison wanted an update on one of those. Harrison was on the phone as he stepped into the doorway, but he waved him in anyway while he wrapped up.

He shuffled the folders, waiting, glancing at the calendar on the wall and the corkboard with outdated fliers and a few snapshots. Four always felt that offices were overrated, boring, bland, and isolating. They were too small and cramped, and just thinking about it made his claustrophobia prickle goosebumps up his neck.

"Close the door," Harrison requested. Four complied, the butterflies surfacing in his stomach; they usually weren't that formal about a couple of surveillance requests.

"Which one you want to know about?"

"This one." Harrison offered his own folder and handed it to him.

Four shut it as soon as he opened it. The camera outside the gate clearly caught him with his arms around Tris on the tailgate. But Harrison leaned over the desk to open it for him, and then shuffled through the sheets, letting him see each one clearly before moving on. He and Tris in the city center holding hands, getting off the train at Dauntless, walking into the hallway to his apartment.

"Now, we talked about this." Harrison sighed, sitting back down in his chair. His shoulders rose up around his ears like they always did when he was uncomfortable. Four knew from being his subordinate that he hated correcting behavior, and Four hadn't ever been on the receiving end.

"I'm not a member, yet," Four said, handing it back.

"Yes, you are. You're just not re-initiated. You know the rules," he stated pointedly.

"Then she's a member, too. You can't have it both ways. We're in or we're out. There's no reason to treat us like criminals for this," Four challenged, getting a reproachful glare.

"No! You know better. She's a traitor that hasn't even passed a single step to get back in. You are not the same!" Harrison let the folder fall between them, Four's steely gaze not deterring him. "Look, you're a couple of stupid kids being dumb on the back of a truck. I get that. I really do. But let's pretend for a second that Amar is recommending you take your final landscape next week, and says you're already close to passing drills…"

Four sucked his teeth; he hadn't been called stupid in three years, and the denigration of his relationship to "childish" crossed a line. He clamped his jaw shut to grit out, "I'll take that into consideration."

"I don't want to throw you out. But we need standards, we need rules. And part of rules are holding the boundaries — for everyone. So, I'll be watching." Harrison waved him out.

Four wished Harrison had yelled more, tipped the trigger of his temper and given him cause. Of all the words that grated on him, calling Tris a traitor pinched a nerve. It occurred to him that if Fiona had said it, he probably wouldn't have cared as much. It was somehow different coming from Harrison.

* * *

"What's got you in a tizzy?" Zeke asked as Four turned him sharply in the hallway, back towards the training room, with an iron grip on his shoulder.

"Want to go shoot some birds?" Four asked, then continued rapidly, "I really, really want to kill something."

Zeke eyed him warily, but kept pace to the gun room. "What happened?"

"Harrison being a —." Four shook his head, scanning his chip for access and finding the birdshot among the ammunition.

"Oh?" Zeke pulled two shotguns off the rack, checking each one for action and spent cartridges.

"Come on." Four headed out the door, checking the time on his watch.

"Need some jackets," Zeke warned. "It's howling like a whore on Saturday night out there."

"Got one I can borrow, rather than running upstairs?" Speed was on his mind; he'd almost forgo the jacket if it meant getting out of the building faster.

Four balanced the two guns on his forearm, waiting for Zeke to dig a jacket out of his — Shauna's closet. He snickered over Zeke's empty apartment when Zeke had to ask and Shauna quickly instructed him on where he last put it.

"Shut up," Zeke griped, handing it to him, then broke into a chuckle himself.

"Where you going?" Shauna asked, twisting to look behind her from her position on the couch.

"Shooting," Four offered.

"Gonna get a goose or something. Be ready to pluck." Zeke smiled, kissing her cheek for a second, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "You need anything before I go, might be a couple hours?"

"No, I'll be alright," she whispered back, then added, louder, "You should take Hector." Zeke cast her a sideways glance with a groan. "Do it: bond, or whatever," she said with more threat in her voice than Zeke was willing to argue with.

"Really?" Four cocked an eyebrow as they stood outside Shauna's parents' apartment, waiting for Hector to pull on his shoes and a coat.

"Girls bring complications."

"Whipped," Four coughed into his fist.

"Better than celibate," he retorted, popping Hector a fist bump as he tore out excitedly and headed down the hallway.

They made the walk out to the field exchanging some minor comments and stories from Zeke's encounters with the new fringe groups until the wind made it hard to hear. Zeke handed over his shotgun and a series of directions to Hector and stood back behind him. They waited for the birds. Hunting is one of the least popular activities at Dauntless. It takes too much time, with too little booze, and not enough noise or movement for most of the members. But Four got lucky; Zeke enjoyed a little bit of quiet from time to time.

"So, Harrison?" Zeke prompted quietly, but still startling Four out of his ruminations.

"Someone got him pictures of me and Tris. Or maybe he's watching me himself. I don't know."

"Not so celibate after all." Zeke offered a celebratory fist, Four glared.

"It wasn't like that. It was just a moment on the way back from Amity. We weren't doing anything."

"But it looked like it?"

"I might have been… it doesn't matter. It's bullshit. He says he's 'watching me'." He rolled his eyes.

"So, tone it down. Wouldn't hurt you to make sure she follows through." Zeke shrugged.

"Trust me, by Dauntless standards, we didn't even touch the scale. It's just a stupid double standard because Harrison has it out for her."

"I can't help you there. Harrison's gonna think what he thinks. If I were you, I wouldn't give him anything to think about."

Four contemplated the little touches he'd been giving her the three days she'd already come to train. The hugs at the train, the kisses to her forehead, her pushing him into a doorway in the utility hallway the last time. Each one, if captured in a still shot, would probably constitute too much affection in Harrison's mind.

"I don't think I can train her." He kicked at a rock with his boot.

"What? You can train anyone," Zeke dismissed.

"Yeah, I know, but not her. Not without giving Harrison ammunition."

Zeke wanted to make a joke about the Abnegation getting handsy, but thought better of it. "So, see if Amar will train her with the wipes. Then you can keep some distance."

"He's pretty booked up, already asking me to take some and train them with her."

"Do it! I'm sure you still love an audience about as much as you used to." Zeke shrugged.

"I don't know. He basically wants no contact at all. If I put my hand on her back, I could be out on the street."

"Jerk." Four pinched his lips together and raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with Zeke. "What?"

"Could you help?"

Zeke rolled a stick under his boot and watched it crinkle the grass over. "I'm not a trainer; besides, I don't have time."

"I mean, I know when you have to rotate out. I could see if Amar can help me then, but the rest of the time, after your shift," he suggested.

"I don't know that I can fit it in."

"What else you got going on?" Zeke shrugged; Four prodded, "What? Some secret project? Stink bombs, again?"

"What I mean is, I'm working with someone else," Zeke said cryptically.

Four lowered his voice, turning his back to Hector. "Are you seeing someone on the side?"

"No! Never." Zeke shoved him, looking disgusted.

"Then what?"

"I'm working with Shauna," Zeke mumbled, but had to repeat himself when Four couldn't hear. "I'm working with Shauna. It's why I'm never in the training room 'til late. We're working on some things."

"Do I even want to know?" Zeke always thought it was funny how Four's cheeks flushed at the mere idea of sex. It was a game that never got old, but wasn't exactly what he wanted to play at the moment.

Zeke pulled him another ten feet away from Hector and lowered his voice even more. "She had this procedure about two months ago, and she's got some feeling back and some movement. But it's kind of taking a lot of work to get the muscles moving again. So we do these exercises her therapist gave us, and it seems to be helping with the numbness."

"That's amazing."

"Yeah. It kind of is." Zeke smiled.

"So, why the secret?"

"This first one, everyone was really disappointed when it wasn't magic. And it got her pretty depressed for a while. And now she's going for another treatment, this time at the Bureau, and there's a potential that it backfires and she loses it all. We just don't want to tell people and then have to tell them it all went south again. I think it's too hard on her to face all that."

"Who works with her when you're gone?"

"No one, we just skip a couple weeks."

Four's eyes lit up. "Switch with me. You train Tris, I train Shauna. I'll keep going on the weeks that you're gone, Shauna gets consistency and it'll keep Harrison off my back."

"I don't know. She kind of likes the attention, I think."

"Just the few days Tris is here, the rest can still be all you. Ask her." Zeke shuffled, and grimaced. "Please? Just ask; if she says no, then I'll drop it."

"Fine, I'll ask her. But she still seems to think you're the bogeyman." His warning was sincere, and recalling the way she fled a few weeks back stung.

"What better way to prove I'm not. I helped her before, I can help her again."

They'd been standing in silence, waiting for close to two hours, before a flapping flock finally veered towards them. Daylight was getting questionable and Four's feet were frozen solid in his boots. Zeke yawned and swayed with sleepy eyes, but Four had kept himself vigilant while he stewed. At first, he contemplated how to monitor her progress and change her training plan if he wasn't there.

Then his thoughts twisted back onto Harrison, and for the most part, stayed there. But an itching irritation came right alongside those thoughts. Tris had crawled up inside him and made a home — carved out a piece of him and put herself there — and then left, and none of it would have happened or turned out this way if she had just stayed where she belonged. She made everything so much harder than it needed to be.

Zeke stepped up next to Hector, calmly whispering instructions in his ear. Four patiently waited to shoot until after Hector, just to make sure it seemed fair — that he didn't scare them off. At least two fell before they all scattered out and down and up, spreading wide. Zeke took the gun and let Hector speed out to collect the birds.

"Bird shooting's not so bad. At least he has to shut up. She suggested I take him fishing in the spring," he groaned. "You're lucky you ended up with a transfer. It's so less complicated."

"She's anything but easy," Four groused.

"Feel better now that there's one less goose in the world?"

"I will after we cook it," he commented.

"Should we save it for Sunday?" Zeke asked. "You are still coming?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just would rather eat it when I pluck it."

"You'll get some on Sunday," Zeke reminded, as Hector came running back with two birds limply dangling, one in each hand.

Hector couldn't walk a straight line if it would save his life. Four watched him wearily as he bounced back and forth between the buildings and over piles of rubble. They'd already rescued the geese from his clumsy hands.

"So, week one?" Zeke prompted, wishing he had a flask to speed up the interrogation process.

"She's got a long way to go. Her lap time is awful. She won't shoot. She can't do a push-up."

"What? She doesn't look like she's that out of shape."

"Her shoulder, it got wrecked at the Bureau," Four explained. "Guess it'll take time."

"You should get a modified PT plan from Fiona and Harrison. They gave one to Shauna."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she's got to wheel a mile in fifteen minutes, do four reps of ten pull-ups, shoot straight, and be proficient in first aid. It's what's fair for her, considering she was out ridding the faction of a traitor when she got shot."

"I don't think Harrison would be so willing."

"Shit on Harrison, ask Fiona. If she can't climb or fight, then there's got to be alternative marks they can use. It's not like she's stuck on the first floor. And there are other amputees and wounded folks around, she isn't even a special case. I'm sure Amar has negotiated something already for someone with an arm injury."

"I didn't realize they were so open to keeping people."

"Not exactly a ton of us left. And if you want more Dauntless, you got to keep the numbers up." He added in a perverse clapping of his hands.

"We'll see how she does with the standard marks first." Four rolled his eyes.

"You should ask up front. I don't think they'll peel it back if she fails."

* * *

Tris anxiously informed the guard at the door about attending Amar's Sunday dinner. In no way would she be as proficient as Christina in flirting her way through, but fortunately, he seemed agreeable enough to let her by without an escort. The hallways were empty and the Pit was quiet; everyone that had a place to go was either rushing to get there or already enjoying their family. She could smell the variety of dishes as she passed doors: roast beef, garlic and basil, carrots, ginger, honey. The hallway was almost nauseating for the variety.

She was halfway through Amar's wing when Four stepped into the hall, marching quickly with his hands in his pockets. He looked at his feet and muttered his practice apologies and explanations so it might sound a little convincing when Hana inquired at his being nearly 45 minutes late.

"Tobias." She smiled, watching him pull up in surprise, focusing on her. She was quickly closing distance. Before her outstretched hand could contact his hip, he shimmied to the side and stood up straight, arms locked to his side.

"I'm with Zeke today," he blurted, like it was some sort of custody agreement out of his control.

"Oh, I should have asked. Are you coming by later?"

"Maybe, but probably not." He kept his glance down at his feet, not at her eyes.

"Walk me home?" she asked hopefully, moving closer. Four glanced at the camera in the hall and shuffled again.

"I don't think that's a good idea. George probably will, if you ask. Have fun." He gave her a small smile, leaving her cold in the hallway.

She finished her route to Amar's, knocking with hesitation. Amar's broad smile pulled her in immediately and despite Four's absence, she did enjoy meeting a few new people.

Derick worked in the storeroom, on the receiving end of all the shipments, which at least gave them a starting point for a conversation. He was sociable and funny, and after his face tattoo and piercings faded from the front of her mind, she could admit he was good looking. She suspected nothing until he brushed her hair behind her ear and commented on the rings on the necklace around her neck.

"They're just a memento from my former faction." She inched back from him on the couch.

"Oh, you transferred?" He leaned in.

"Yep." She closed down, hesitant to lead him on.

"From where?" He inched closer, letting his hand fall just beside her knee, his fingers touching the cloth of her pants. If she was capable of processing, she would have realized the restraint he was using in comparison to most Dauntless.

"Abnegation." She stared at him directly, curious what that would mean to him. He sat back.

"Oh, oh." He finally recognized her, repeating her name. "Tris, right. Oh, you and Four…" He looked around concerned.

"He's not here tonight." She smirked, feeling protected.

"Yeah, well, tell him I said hi when you see him."

That was the end of their conversation; he excused himself to the bathroom and she found another conversation. But she still felt flattered that he even tried, especially since it was the most attention she'd gotten in days.

* * *

Tris slid to a stop on the pebbles outside the Dauntless entrance, barely avoiding a fall. She steadied herself and straightened her clothes. The other members eyed her faded gray top, modified from an Abnegation standard, as she followed them to the door. A stern blond man stopped her and asked for her access token.

"Hey Anxo, I got her," Zeke called, trotting up the hall with a smile plastered on his face. "She's here to train with Amar," he assured, but Anxo seemed wary.

Zeke put his arm behind her and pushed her through the door, keeping his arm on her back as they walked. "Anxo takes his job pretty seriously. You should pick up some more black while you're here. Eventually, you'll be able to sneak in."

"Where's Four?"

"Um, you guys need to talk about that." Zeke pulled her into the dining hall. "Want a snack?"

He stepped into line and picked up a bowl of nuts and granola and an apple. Tris followed him, taking a bowl for herself. He found a place to sit at the far side of the hall, separate from the other groups lounging. Zeke checked his watch and assured her Four was coming.

Four was breathless, dropping down from a trot to enter the dining hall and quickly grabbed a glass of water before joining them with an uneasy smile. He sat across from her, next to Zeke, who then stood and moved ten feet away, arms crossed — looking, but pretending not to be interested.

"What's going on?" Her eyes flickered back and forth between them.

"Harrison got a hold of some pictures he didn't like. Of us." Four glowered, rolling the cup between his hands. She gripped his wrist; he pulled back and pinned his hands under his thighs instead. "Look, I really liked this last week. I liked you being here, and Amity…" He looked over at Zeke, whose head snapped away quickly, giving away that he was inside of hearing distance. Four turned red and took a deep breath to calm himself. "I think it's better if you train with Zeke instead. It'll keep us from getting in trouble."

"Oh." Tris contemplated, "So, you don't want to train with me anymore?"

"It's not that, it's just...it'll be better this way," he assured.

It didn't feel better to her. It felt like backtracking. "And we talk like this? In the dining hall, with a chaperone?"

"It is what it is. Damned cameras are everywhere." Four glanced at two corners.

"Okay. And when he's on the fence?"

"Amar will help you. I can still help some just I don't want something innocent to be a weapon against us. I'll take some of the wipes off his hands to open it up for you. It'll be okay, you'll see. And there's elections coming, we can always hope he gets voted out. Asshole," he sneered.

She nodded, building up resolve to argue.

"Listen, just keep coming, keep working and when you're back in all this goes back to normal." He caught sight of Fiona entering the hall.

"Why wait?" Tris started to reach out, "Will he really kick you out?"

"He wasn't joking. Just do it, okay?" he stubbornly commanded. She started to protest his tone, but Four was already standing up and stepping out, clapping a hand on Zeke's shoulder as he passed.

"Jackass." Zeke glared at his back.

"What?"

"He's not very good with women." Zeke smirked, and she laughed a little. "Come on small-fry, let's start with a run."

* * *

To be fair to his agreement with Shauna and Zeke, he let Zeke meet Tris at the door instead. And after Shauna's silent treatment wore his patience and her exercises wore her out, he positioned her back on the couch for a nap. Only then could he finally seek solace on the mezzanine watching Tris and Zeke, sweaty and smiling, on the training floor below.

He tried not to glare every time Zeke touched her, innocently, innocuously, incessantly. His hands on her hips to help her do chin ups, or cinching up her harness for the wall, or how he got to grapple with her on the mat as they retrained around her shoulder. Actually, not glaring during grappling was easy, because he couldn't stand to watch. It prompted him to see if Zeke could recruit a girl instead, under the 'tip' that it's easier to critique when watching from the outside.

Four figured out a dangerous game of timing, one that he practiced each time he walked the hall to the door on his own. It was two days of practicing, counting, rescanning the footage over and over to get the timing perfect, but when he met her and Zeke in the hallway to walk her out, he gave her a warning.

"I figured something out with the cameras. Just keep walking, act like every thing's normal." He turned red as soon as he caught Zeke's amused expression, muttering for him to shut up and keep a straight face.

On film, it looked like three friends walking through the hallways, the girl getting giggly and red as they went. Two steps, he put his hand on her back for three, giving her a triumphant smile. Then sixteen until he grabbed her hand for four. Seven before he casually draped his arm across her shoulder for five brief strides. Towards the end of the hallway he turned to Zeke, stopping them directly in the final blind spot.

"You mind, like turning around for a second?"

"What?" Zeke laughed, amused at the intricate design. "No. If you're gonna be a fool, be a fool."

"Fuck you." Four glared, barely getting it out before Tris had him locked to her lips, hands directing him from his startled stiffness to a relaxed, lingering draw.

"I assume that's what you wanted?" She blushed before stepping out to the train tracks.

"Oh, boy. If that's how you kiss, you need some practice," Zeke chuckled through the bruising jab to his stomach. "I mean, more than just on pillows. You didn't even use tongue."

It's a parade he repeats the next night, one that got him teased until his face hurt from blushing, and Zeke's stomach and shoulder pebbled with blue bruises.

* * *

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	23. CH23: Missed Connections

**As always, Milner and BK2U graciously gave their time in editing this chapter. Warning, violence and sexual content follows.**

* * *

Caleb went to the Bureau for a training session on isolating and controlling mutations in viruses, and it was the first time in months that Tris had a whole night to herself. The first time she could sit on the couch and read her book without hearing him scuttling through the index of his reference text like the factionless through a trash can. The silence was serene. She even contemplated running a bath and soaking up the warmth for an hour.

A pounding jolt to her door startled her, and the very real fact of her solitude brought on an accelerating pulse. She timidly tiptoed across the cold floor of her apartment, pulling down her t-shirt to try and compensate for the shorts she was wearing. Tris peeked through the peephole, but all she could see was black, and the blurry, deep tan of an arm. Black meant Dauntless; black meant her faction.

Tris carefully cracked the door, ready to slam it shut if needed, but his coy smile disarmed her immediately.

"Tobias, what are you doing here?" she greeted as he pushed through the door and wrapped her up in his strong arms. She gripped across his shoulders and felt the warmth of him fully against her. His lips were hungry when they found hers, his hands equally greedy in how they clutched her. He kicked the door shut, and when her hands slid under his shirt, he let her pull it up. She stopped herself from twisting it off over his head.

"Tobias," she warned, his skin hot against hers. He peppered her neck with kisses, pulling at her shirt with one hand and pushing her deeper into her apartment with the other. She returned his touches playfully, but the panic was rising step by backward step across her apartment.

"God, I missed you," he said, pressing his forehead against hers. "I have an hour before they expect me back."

"Just an hour?" She kissed him again, tightening her grip on his side and feeling the contractions of his muscles.

"Don't need all of it," he smirked, pushing his hands up under her shirt and tracing the edge of her bra.

Her stomach fluttered: she was panicking, breathing harder, unsure if this is what she really wanted. But at her core, she knew she wanted him, wanted to feel him and be felt, too. She wanted him all to herself the way she felt she was already his.

Tris tentatively slid her tongue over the salty skin of his neck, hearing his breath hitch right next to her ear. His hands slipped around and fumbled with the clasp, eliciting a sigh of pleasure as his hands circled back around, then squeezed her too tight.

"Ow." She tried to pull back, but he locked her to him with one hand on her back and the other still groping roughly. "Not so rough," she asked, dragging her lips up his neck until she found his ear.

"Do you want to?" he asked, quiet and tentative.

"Yeah," she admitted with a small smile and a nod of her head. Her hands stroked up the smooth skin of his back, finally pulling his shirt off. She threw it on the ground as he grabbed her around the waist, her toes barely on the ground as he carried her. She clung to the doorframe of her room, trying to slow him back down so she could savor his attention.

"Tobias," she chastised when he roughly pushed her through, strong and powerful, her resistance nothing in comparison. "Stop." She laughed, playfully pushing at him; but he didn't, calling all her nerves back to fight or flight: neither one seemed possible. His hands extracted her shirt, twisting it painfully off her protesting limbs, and when she hit the mattress, naked and cold, she couldn't remember when the rest of her clothes were raked off or when he'd dropped his pants on the floor.

She pushed him back harder. "Stop it, Tobias. Stop!" but he persisted, pinching both wrists in one hand above her head.

"You said you wanted to. Remember?" He kissed her neck, squeezing her chest hard again. "You just said..."

"Please, you're scaring me." She tried to knee him in the side.

"So you'll give it up for him, but not for me?" he accused, roughly forcing her thighs apart. "You're lucky I even want to. No one else will even look at you!"

She broke into a sob, hiccupping out, "Stop, please. Four, stop. Four!" His other hand clapped over her mouth, restricting her nose. She gasped against his palm, screamed and struggled, bashing her heels into him. Four was strong, powerful, a force she couldn't fight. And the harder she fought the more it hurt, and the harder he pushed on her mouth and wrists. She could feel the tears sliding down around his fingers, redirected to run by her ears. The slapping sounds of their skin meeting between them echoed so loudly she thought it was workers in the apartment next door. But no matter how hard she screamed, they weren't coming to help her. No one was coming.

Tris woke with a start on the couch. Her book dropped into her lap and there were tears on her cheeks. Her breaths were short and labored and her whole body ached like it was more than just a nightmare. A pound on the door startled her, and she cautiously approached to see his casual smirk in the peephole, opening the door to restart the nightmare all over again. The same persistent hands, the same taunting statements, the same brutal treatment. Over and over she woke, answered the door, struggled against him, and lost. By the time she remembered the pattern she was already under him, already fighting, and already losing.

On Monday afternoon, she wasn't in the training room when he'd finished early with Shauna. Four dangled his feet over the edge and looped his arms over the bar to wait and watch. Zeke spotted him, jogged up the stairs and sat next to him, a folder in his hands and a heaviness in him that put dread in Four's stomach.

"She had a reaction on Friday. I didn't hear about it until today, so be mad at Amar, not me," he started, defensively. "She got sent to the hospital at Erudite. I called and they said she was released on Sunday."

"What kind of reaction?"

"I don't know. All it says is something with the sim and some medication. The notes are brief. Basically, Amar couldn't stop the sim, or her brain took over or something." Zeke offered him the folder, but Four pushed it away as he scrambled up.

Priority number one was getting to Tris, and number two was dealing with Amar. He had forty-five minutes until the next train, but his legs were too spent from a morning run to hoof it into the city. Four put his access to the control room to use and started flipping through the monitors.

Amar wasn't anywhere to be found. While Four pounded out his commands on the prompt, he managed to calm down and rationalize. Amar would have told him if he thought it was serious, so it mustn't have been that bad. And he hadn't even seen Amar since Thursday, so maybe there wasn't an opportunity. He circled the control room and compulsively rotated through the cameras again. He finally settled into the surveillance requests from Candor's lawyers to keep himself occupied, one eye on each entrance and another on the hall outside Amar's apartment. There were ten minutes left until the train when Amar crossed into the compound and made a beeline directly for the control room, Four's second home.

Amar popped through the door and sank heavily into a chair with a sigh. Four finished typing the last sentence on his report before swiveling to give him his full attention. He opened his mouth to start the argument, but Amar cut him off.

"You know landscapes are confidential," he stated, folding his hands on his stomach as he slouched.

"Yeah," Four murmured. It was a fact he clearly knew.

"So, I wouldn't ever tell you about anyone specifically."

"Yeah, I know." Four could have strangled him for the delay if he didn't want the information so badly.

"But if you happened to pull up a training file, you know, when you're helping me out, and I accidentally named a file 'Training Plan' instead of 'Landscape Progress', and I forgot to put a unique password on it, that's just a mistake, right?"

Four turned to the terminal and thrashed a set of commands across his screen until he was looking directly at her folder. All his notes from initiation were in there, as well as a file marked 'Training Plan.'

"This is wrong, I can't spy on her," he huffed, turning back to Amar. "Just tell me what happened. Zeke said she had a reaction."

"Open the damned file, Four." Amar stared him down until he clicked the icon, entered the standard password, and the system began the decryption.

"Is she okay?"

"She'll survive." Amar said curtly.

"I didn't realize you were doing landscapes, yet. You should have told me," he grumbled, tapping along with the blinking cursor while he waited.

"I met her for Zeke on Friday because he was running late off patrols. I asked if she wanted to get started, she did," Amar confirmed as the file opened. He spun Four's chair so he was facing him and looked more nervous than Four felt as he uttered, "Serious, now. Before you read it, you've been with Tris, right?" Four offered no response, just a roll of his eyes and a huff. "Seriously, you've had sex with her, and it went alright, right?"

"It was fine." He dropped eye contact.

"She thought it was fine? Not like freaked out?"

"I sure as shit hope so," he snapped. Amar's warning glare adjusted his attitude. "We were good then, really good. I mean, I didn't know what I was doing and it probably wasn't great for her, but it was probably pretty normal." He blushed, recounting a dozen images that at other times had swiftly brought his release, but now brought heat to his face and constriction to his chest.

"Not great how?" Four let his head flop backwards and groaned. "It's important," Amar insisted.

"I could tell I hurt her, but she insisted I didn't."

"And what happened after?"

"We went to sleep." He sighed, exhausted over the line of questioning.

"Together? Or did she, like, go off on her own?"

"Together. All night until the next morning."

"And after that?"

"Seriously? We got up, shot some guns and erased all your friends." Amar flinched; Four regretted it immediately. "Sorry."

"And you didn't leave anything out of your notes on her initiation simulations?"

"Outside of the manipulations she did, no."

"Okay, then read it." Amar let him turn back and decided to stand, too nervous to stay seated. Four's eyes blinked rapidly, then focused as he read it again and again. Each time his eyes reset to the beginning, his grip on the desk tightened, his jaw relaxed, and his mouth drooped open millimeter by millimeter.

Four turned, a pleading, frantic look on his face that was both scared and lost. "I wouldn't, I swear I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't ever do that or say that or… I didn't do this."

Amar nodded, stepping forward so he could lower his voice. "There's not a chance that she blew something out of proportion? You didn't get a little rough with her?"

"No!" Four looked at him disgusted, hurt.

"You know why I'm asking," Amar defended. "Someone did this to her. This isn't some abstract fear, this shit is always caused by someone."

Four turned back to the statements on the screen; only one person had come up in conversation that ever made Tris uncomfortable. And if this was any indication of what Matthew had done, he hated himself for holding her admissions against her.

The only thing that made him feel better after reading that was slamming every ounce of frustration into the punching bag. George struggled to hold it steady and keep it from swaying too much. He didn't last much more than thirty minutes before he eventually suggested that Four move on to shooting guns instead, but he'd already formulated his plan.

* * *

A quick call to Johanna confirmed that Matthew was at the Bureau, with no convenient trip to Chicago planned. Zeke was an easy recruit for a trip out of town; Amar didn't have to give him the details. He asked for help with Four, and Zeke didn't hesitate.

"Four!" Matthew greeted, happy and genial. "I'm surprised to see you. You're not on my calendar."

Four shut the door behind him. Zeke and Amar waited outside on either side of the door, ready to stop anyone that came to interrupt.

"Matthew," Four answered coldly.

"How are you? How is Tris, do you know? It's been a while since I've checked in on her," Matthew dug with a smirk, easily assuming jealousy.

Four knew from years of abuse that silence and a slow approach were more menacing than taunts or yelling. Four flexed his hands and rolled his fingers into fists, unblinking.

Matthew blanched and moved out from behind his desk, putting a couch between them. "You two back together?"

Four stepped closer, blocking him from the exit. Matthew stepped back, herded into a corner and sputtered, "You two weren't together. It's not like she cheated. We didn't do anything wrong."

Four was an arm's length away when he gripped the lapel of Matthew's jacket. Four looked at his knuckles around the navy blue fabric, testing his grip with a tug.

"Don't do anything rash, okay? I mean, we didn't do anything wrong. Two consenting adults." Matthew was stammering.

"Consenting? Do you like being held down?" Four asked, pushing him against the wall, digging his fist into his chest. "Do you like it when someone uses you, takes advantage of you?"

A switch flipped behind Matthew's expression, like he knew he couldn't escape physically, and hoped he could disarm Four in another way. He foolishly smiled as he taunted, "She loved it, begged me for it. She even came back for seconds. If I was there right now, I'd have her —"

Four stopped him with a fist to the jaw.

Zeke looked nervously at Amar, having expected to hear yelling or something from inside. He then sent a concerned and questioning look when the thumps started sounding.

"What he do?" Zeke whispered. The entire ride up had been a stagnant silence he didn't dare break.

"He wasn't very nice to Tris," Amar offered.

Zeke listened, counting each landed blow. At around fifteen he was starting to lose his cool listening to the violent pounding going on inside.

"Are we going to let him kill him?"

"He deserves it, but we probably shouldn't." Amar popped the door open and Zeke slipped in.

Four had Matthew on the floor, rhythmically but slowly landing blows, most falling on Matthew's chest with little force left behind them, Four heaving for breath between his sobs. Zeke wrapped his arms around his shoulders to pull him up, and Four lashed out with one final kick before stepping away and collecting himself.

He never intended on losing it so completely: but the minimal summary let his imagination derail. The idea of anyone ever doing any one of the brutal things his mind conjured broke something in him. Especially when Matthew had pretended to be her friend.

Every other time he had blacked out he was completely unable to recall a single action, sound, or feeling. He was momentarily under a spell, and he hated it. This time, though, it was like he was watching someone else, like in his landscape. It was as if he'd brought Marcus into the room and unleashed him. For the first time in his life, he was thankful to have that monster inside of him.

Zeke slipped his shirts off and separated his tank top out to use as a towel. They ignored Matthew's moans while Zeke made sure the splatter on Four's neck and face was wiped as clean as possible. He waited until Four's eyes focused and met his.

"So?"

"What?" Four sounded hoarse, using the sleeve of his jacket to dry his cheeks and wipe his nose.

"What he do?"

"He raped her."

Zeke stiffened. "Sure you want to leave him breathing?" Four shrugged and took the cloth to wipe off his bleeding knuckles and the sweat from the back of his neck. Zeke quickly pulled his shirt back on and nodded at Four, assuring him that he looked alright, then turned him around and pushed him out the door.

Four tucked his bleeding hands under his armpits, assumed a stone -faced scowl, and lead them back down the hallway and out the door, almost at a jog. He could feel his breath shaking, like he was shivering in the cold; at the same time, he was overheating and pouring sweat with a sickening bile lurching up from his stomach. As soon as they cleared the guard gate, he stripped off his jacket and threw up in the bushes, the cold air on the back of his neck soothing him as he retched.

Zeke waited next to him, his hand on Four's back while Amar jogged around the corner to get the truck. He patiently commented to the passersby, assuring them that he was okay. Nervously, Zeke tugged him into a staggering, discordant walk. Four followed on autopilot.

Zeke hopped up into the truck and pulled Four in after him, not really wanting to be in the way if he needed to puke again. He had to lean across him to get the door.

"Come on man, wake up," Zeke snapped, getting a dazed, unfocused response. He watched in uncomfortable horror as tears piled up and spilled over Four's lower lids. "Aww, man…" He looked at Amar in distress, not sure what to do.

"Girls do fucked up things to you guys," Amar sighed. "There's a first aid kit under the seat. See if you can at least clean up his hands."

The kit was slightly smashed and it took some prying to get it open. It was also well picked over, and while no tape or bandages remained, there was a roll of gauze. Zeke carefully took Four's hands, one at a time, and dabbed at the splits before he wrapped them. The entire time, Four stared out the window. He leaned his chin on his right palm as soon as Zeke was done with it, and let the wind run through his hair.

"You want to talk about it?" Amar asked carefully. Four shook his head, giving some hope that he was returning to consciousness. "You sure?"

"You should be over the moon with what you did to that guy." Zeke tucked the edge of the gauze under a lower layer, finishing Four's left hand.

"Shouldn't have happened," Four muttered. "It would never have happened if I didn't leave."

"Four, you don't know that," Amar cautioned. "Don't get stuck in that mind game."

"She's never going to talk to me again," he grumbled, looking back out the window, closing his eyes.

"What?" Zeke looked to Amar for an explanation.

"It was him in her sim, not that asshole." He stepped down harder on the gas, hurtling them faster down the battered road.

"Dude, it was just a sim. It's not like it just came to her in that instant, it doesn't work like that. And yet, she's been after you for months," Zeke offered. "The mind does all sorts of fucked up things in those sims." Four didn't even shrug, silence taking over for the remainder of the ride.

Amar secured Four with zip cuffs just outside the loading dock doors at Dauntless. Zeke took one side and Amar the other and they escorted him through the facility to the holding pen before anyone in leadership could make the arrest.

* * *

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	24. CH24: Bit by bit

**Thank you to the ever enthusiastic Milner for being like a companion through out the long, long, long editing process and BK2U for superior grammar skills. And to the Tumblers who have been very embracing of my sardonic nature. Especially everyone's kid sister, B-Dauntless for the hours and hours of fun I have had at your expense.**

* * *

Melissa smiled softly, and remarkably without judgment, when she saw Tris in her waiting room, actually keeping her appointment. She was even kinder when she noted how gingerly Tris walked, and how her fingers trembled around the strap of her bag.

"Last time we talked, you were ready to come off your medication. I was surprised to learn you were still getting refills through your general doctor," she started carefully, leading her back through to her office.

"I couldn't shake the nightmares or the flashbacks." Tris kept her eyes down, hiding herself behind the bag on her lap and pulling her arms in as tight against herself as she could. Admitting her weaknesses had never come naturally. She looked pale and had obviously been crying recently.

"What brings you here, Tris? Erudite made the appointment." Melissa had to fight her motherly instincts to comfort her in order to keep up the facade of professionalism.

"I restarted initiation at Dauntless," Tris admitted, sticking to the facts. "And I had a reaction to the simulation serum. I need to get off the medications, entirely, or I'm not allowed back in."

"They put you under their fear sim with your medication in your system?" Her voice rose, "That's irresponsible!"

"I didn't tell them."

"Why wouldn't you tell them?"

"It makes me weak. I didn't think they'd let me rejoin if they knew. I have to make it. I have to get off the pills."

When she'd gotten the courtesy call from Erudite about her patient and the prescription, they just said she had a reaction and that they were recommending she stop taking it immediately, claiming confidentiality when she asked about symptoms. It's partially why Melissa was relieved to have Tris in her office; coming off Carton A cold turkey had numerous side effects, and with her suicidal past, it was best done slowly and under supervision.

"I see." Melissa paused before continuing her thoughts out loud, more to herself than to Tris. "The anti-anxiety pill slows down how your mind processes emotions, and the interaction between it and an over-stimulation of the amygdala must have sustained the halluci—." She stopped herself. "It must have been very traumatic." Tris swallowed hard, and hugged her bag.

"Will you tell me about the fear you experienced? What happened in the sim?" Tris shook her head. "I can see that it bothered you. Sharing might help you start to process what happened."

Tris's eyes started welling; she couldn't control herself. Sinking her face into her bag as a sob burst, uncontrolled from her chest. Melissa slid out from behind her desk and sat on the cushion next to her, pulling a fresh tissue from the box on the table and holding it out to her. Tris took it bashfully, trying to calm the quiver in her jaw. The warm hand that gripped hers bolstered her attempts at controlling her breathing.

"Remember when you didn't want to discuss the dream you had when you almost died?" Tris nodded, blowing her nose. "You felt better after we talked about it, and we kept talking about it until you understood it." Tris nodded again. "I want you to keep that in mind. Talking about this could help you with what you just went through, and it might help you as you go through initiation."

Tris summoned up all the courage she had left to choke out, "I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't. He didn't. And then it just wouldn't stop. Over and over and over." To Melissa it barely sounded like English, but she knew with a little time it eventually would.

* * *

Christina came with her, still confused at Tris's sudden jumpiness and distant behavior, and even more, why it took three days to exhaust all the excuses and get Tris to make the trip to Dauntless. Tris insisted on walking from the last stop, extending her stubborn silence. While they waited for the guard at the door to summon Amar, Tris hugged herself. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Amar put an arm around her, protective and assuring in a way Christina had never seen from him before. His posture, combined with the cooing whispers he offered Tris, alarmed her even more.

Amar found an empty space in the dining hall and banished Christina to the other end of the bench with a swish of his arm; she cast a sour look as she retreated to her designated spot. Tris swallowed nervously and watched Christina settle so far away, wishing that she was right by her side.

"How you feeling?" he started.

"Okay." She nodded, clutching around her middle. "I was hoping... could we keep this, you know, private? I just don't want Four freaking out over nothing. It was just the medication. No reason to set him off and have him freak out."

"Yeah, about that." Amar took a deep breath.

"You told him?" She looked lost, like he'd just stolen her map and stomped on it. Her expression slowly shifted to hurt, then anger, and each inch of transition dug into him.

"You would have, if you were me. It was him in your sim, Tris, not anyone else. Not some faceless guy. It was him. I thought he might have..." Amar admitted, ashamed as he said it. "I mean, I couldn't really fathom it, but it was him. So I had to poke around a bit, and yeah, he knows."

"So that's why he's avoiding me?" Tris had hoped he was tied up in some sort of training or had been called away to the fence. Some other reason than how disgusting he must find her, how awful he must think she finds him.

"No. He's not avoiding you." Amar sighed and rubbed his face, not sure how to say it.

"Well, he hasn't come to work all week," she challenged.

"And he won't be. Not for a while. He, ah… he freaked out. I can't call it stupid or even rash, but he's in the holding pen downstairs."

"What did he do?" She groaned and wiped her hands on her pants before wrapping them back around her core.

"Somehow, he knew who hurt you. So we made a trip up to the Bureau, and he took care of it. He won't hurt you again." Amar shrugged.

"No one hurt me!" she shouted angrily, drawing quick glances from those nearby. Christina's irritation was quickly replaced with concern.

Amar dropped his voice, knowing more ears were listening now. "I've been doing this a long time, and fears like that come from something, they never come from nothing. So whether or not you'll admit it out loud, to yourself or to Four — that asshole raped you. And the sooner you get that, the sooner you'll start dealing with this and start recovering."

Tris dropped her eyes, her face hot as she stewed under the microscope of the faction. "Can I see him?"

"No. It's not allowed. I'm not even allowed to see him. It's leadership, medical, and legal counsel only. And the guards on duty, but they're not supposed to talk to him."

"Did he kill him?" she whispered, averting her eyes and examining the dents in the table.

"No. He'll get justifiable battery, if you consent to your sim records being evidence and make a statement about Matthew. It's a shorter sentence, a much nicer sentence than if they go ahead with aggravated battery or attempted murder. It's up to you, but we execute murderers." Amar paused to let that settle in, feeling guilty about applying the pressure, but there was a real possibility of those charges going forward. "He'll probably have a hearing in a week or so, so you have time to make up your mind."

"Yeah, okay, whatever." She crossed her arms.

"You consent?" he asked to confirm; she nodded. "I'll tell his legal counsel to go to your office for a statement."

"Get him a message, will you?" Tris struggled to breathe through the constricting well of mixed emotions.

"I'll try."

"Tell him next time to go fuck himself instead. I can fight my own battles just fine." Tris startled him with the vehemence in her tone as well as how fast she stood up.

Amar quickly grabbed her sleeve in a panic. "Tris, you're not quitting, are you?"

"I don't know." She took a breath and retreated to stand in the doorway, stopping only to glance back at Cristina.

He watched her with a sigh, fully expecting to never see her in Dauntless again. Wondering who would tell Four that she quit, or if Four would even stick around after she left. His heart jumped into his throat, wondering if Four would jump...

Christina shimmied into place on the bench opposite him. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Hello, Charming. When you restarting?" he diverted, plastering a fake smile on his face.

She responded hastily, "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Look, she won't stop weeping at weird things, and she won't talk about it, and she's all grouchy and stuff. And where the hell is Four? I mention his name and she cries about him never wanting her again."

"Keep an eye on her, okay? She'll be fine, eventually. But, just watch her for a while."

"If he fucking touched her..." She crinkled a fist.

"If he touched her, he'd have killed himself by now. He didn't do anything, got it?" Amar assured. "It's her story to tell, not mine."

"Fine," she glared, shooting up to storm after Tris.

"See you tomorrow. And bring a change of clothes, we're gonna get wet." He tried a weak grin before rubbing it off with his palms.

Christina let Tris stomp through the hallway and out to the streets, because an angry Tris was refreshing compared to the moping, crying Tris she'd been tiptoeing around all week. But when they had to stop and wait for the next train, there was no holding in her questions.

"What is going on?" Christina tried, again.

"Nothing," Tris pouted.

"Did you and Four call it off?"

"No... Probably…" She kicked at the rocks and stared at her feet, stepping hard on her toe to stem her emotions.

"Well, what did he do?" Christina insisted.

"What do you mean? He didn't do anything."

"I don't need to read lips, you kind of yelled. He did something," Christina jabbed, wanting to punch Four herself for whatever it was.

"He beat up Matthew, apparently," Tris snarled.

Christina froze, stunned. "Whoa. That's a bit jealous."

"Yep." Tris pressed harder and twisted her heel.

Christina saw the lie immediately when Tris bit her lip and looked down, her eyes welling despite her efforts. "Why else would he do that?" The tears were curling over Tris's lower lids almost instantly. "Matthew… He did hurt you, didn't he?"

"No! Well, not really." She hugged herself, tightly.

Christina pulled her in, feeling the shaking that vibrated out of Tris's limbs, and held her tightly. "You can tell me, if you want to."

"I already did," Tris whispered between hiccuping sniffles.

Christina had to focus hard to stopper the questions from immediately coming out of her mouth."But you can tell me more," she assured, rubbing her back. "I'll make some tea, we'll lock the door, and you can tell me all of it." Tris nodded and wiped her nose. "Or we'll buy a bottle of wine. This might need wine." Tris let out a sighing chuckle, and looked for the train, leaning into Christina.

* * *

Tris put off the talk, making an extravagant, layered dinner instead. Then she took a long soak in the tub, alone, and by the time she'd finished the work she insisted had to be done, she had firmly pushed Christina's prodding to 'later'. She couldn't push her off any further, however, when she began thrashing and screaming, panicking under Tobias's weight in her nightmare.

"Tris, wake up." Christina tried to save herself from Tris's assaulting hands.

Caleb came through the door with a tired determination, clearly having responded to similar screams many times before, and crouched next to the bed. "Beatrice, it's just a dream." He soothed her, pushing her hair back out of her face as she caught her breath and locked eyes with him. "It was just a dream. I'm going to get you some water, okay?" She nodded.

Christina wrapped her arms around her, holding her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Tris's voice was soft, childlike in pitch.

"What did you dream about?" Christina asked, but Tris hesitated, pulling out one of her arms so she could accept the glass Caleb was bringing through the doorway.

"Pills." Caleb stretched out his hand; Christina intercepted the two tablets curling her fist around them.

"I'll make sure she takes them, after we've talked about it." She glared at him.

"Okay." Caleb shrugged, yawned, and backed out of the room, closing the door firmly.

"Was it about your fear simulation?" Christina asked directly, hoping it would be the opening she needed. "And don't lie." Tris sighed, and Christina could feel her nod in response. "What happened in your sim? What has you so upset?"

"Everyone gets nightmares about their sims. You know, moths and stuff."

"I never woke up screaming."

"It's just a nightmare."

"It's fucking your life up right now. That's not just a nightmare." Christina paused, feeling Tris breathe in and out unevenly, listening to her swish her tongue around like she was close to speaking. She waited.

"Four and I get intimate, only he's too aggressive." Tris hoped to placate her.

"Has Four ever been rough with you? Like in real life?"

"No."

"Okay, so how is sim-Four aggressive? What does he do?"

"He gets impatient with me and moves too fast. And then he tries to pin me so I won't hurt him." She picks her words carefully.

"You mean he holds you down and he rapes you?" Christina asked plainly, only to get a shrug in response.

"Did Four hold you down, ever?" she pushed. Tris adamantly shook her head. "But Matthew did?"

Tris became a solid mass then, holding in her breath, and the harder she tried, the more the shakes took over her body until she was feeling dizzy. She let out a gasp and sobbed.

Tris finally confided in Christina bit by bit, painstakingly pointing out where she had initiated or agreed or gave in. In the end, she felt vindicated by saying, "And he did exactly what he said, he pulled out and I don't know why I worried."

"Wait… When you asked for a condom, he didn't put one on?" Christina's palms ached from her fingernails digging in so hard.

"I mean, it's okay. He said I could trust him, and I could."

"Tris, have you been tested?"

Tris's voice softened, sounding like a child once again; Christina couldn't help but hear her sister in it. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's okay. Janice always runs those panels."

"Thank God! At least you had birth control." Christina was horrified at the silence. "You are on birth control, right?"

"I am now," Tris admitted. "I got the implant, you know, in case he and I got back together."

"You were never together, Tris. You never thought about going back to him did you?"

"Who else will have me, especially now? At least then I wouldn't be alone."

"Four! Four is going to be there for you, always," she stammered.

"I don't think that's going to work out." Tris sniffled.

"Do you still want to be with Four? After that?" It took Christina almost as much courage to ask that as Tris had needed to talk about Matthew.

"That's not the problem."

"I mean, do you still want sex with him?"

"Oh. I don't know. He can make me feel like I want to, but I know it'll be horrible. And, I wish I didn't have to," she sighed.

"You don't have to. You never have to."

"Like anyone would stick around if I don't. Let alone him."

"He loves you," Christina offered.

"Guys only love one thing, remember?"

"You're very selective in what you choose to remember. Have I ever told you that?" Christina deadpanned. "He loves you."

"Loved. Doesn't matter. He probably never wants to touch me again anyway."

"Why not?"

"It's different, we grew up different. You're only supposed to be with one person, ever. And now, I mean… he knows exactly what I did. It's just disgusting."

"What Matthew did," Christina corrected. "And being with more than one person isn't disgusting." Christina soothingly stroked her hair.

"It's dirty, selfish, and degrading to your partner," she recited directly from the quarterly Abnegation counseling she'd received between the ages of fourteen and sixteen.

"So, I'm dirty?" Christina challenged, losing a little bit of the kindness in her voice.

"That's not what I meant. It's different in Abnegation."

"I mean, I've been with five guys... two of them at the same time. Does that make me doubly degrading for everyone I'm with after that?"

"It's different, you're Candor, you're supposed to… I mean, you get to do what you want."

"I'm Dauntless. And so are you, and so is he. He's not going to care that you were with someone else. He probably just cares about you being safe, happy, unharmed. I don't think he'd have bludgeoned a guy if he didn't care about you –if he didn't love you– or if he thought you were disgusting. I mean, how many girls has he fucked? You still love him."

"He hadn't. At least not before me. I'm sure he probably caught up in Milwaukee."

"Oh. You two were each other's first? Wow. Okay. That's different." She paused. "Well, when you have been with him, was he anything like your sim?"

"It was just the once. It was awkward, and fast, and… I mean, he was really sweet to me before and after."

"Tris, everyone's first time is kind of awful like that. I mean, guys have a lot to figure out and they get overwhelmed just like we do. Just because it wasn't great doesn't mean it's going to keep not being great. The point is, did he hurt you in any way?"

"Not on purpose. But it hurt, a lot, you know, when he…"

"That's sort of normal," Christina dismissed. "Did he hold you down?"

"No."

"Did he do anything you didn't want?"

"No."

"Did you want to do it again? Like before you got shot, were you going to try it again?"

"Yeah, eventually."

"He's not Matthew, and he won't hurt you," Christina declared.

"But, I mean, Matthew didn't really, either. I said I wanted to. We did it again."

"Did you ask him to stop?"

"Yeah, but—."

"Did he?"

"No, but—."

"That's not okay. You know that, right? It's not okay. You shouldn't have to do anything you don't want to. And Four's not the type of guy that would ever ask you to."

"He made me do a hell of a lot of pushups," she griped, and Christina rolled her eyes.

Tris sighed, snuggled her pillow closer to her chest and tried to apply logic over the pangs that threatened to bring tears back to her face. Matthew didn't treat her how she wanted to be treated, but putting a label on it as harsh as rape still gnawed at her. And, if Four thought she was as dirty as she thought she was, he wouldn't want her. But he went to the Bureau; if he didn't care he wouldn't have gone, but that didn't mean he would take her back.

Tris started to silently cry through her thoughts and questions about what moving on would feel like. Would he break it off all at once, or would he just stop talking to her, rush past her in the hallway and slip supply requests under her door when she was at lunch? Would he wear that Abnegation mask, keeping his eyes down and staying politely fake for the rest of their lives? Would she never see her Dauntless friends again? Would they all take his side? Would anyone ever love her, hold her? Maybe if she never told them what she did, someone would.

"What's it like?" she asked, hoarse and throaty.

"What?" Christina mumbled, barely above the threshold of sleep.

"Being with so many guys? I mean, how do you just do it and move on?"

"First, five is not a lot. Second, it's not like it doesn't affect me. Each and every one of them is different, and I feel different when I'm with them. It's not like I walk in and out the same person. I guess I've just been lucky that I've always felt it made me a better person. Like each time made the next time better because I know more about what I like and what he might like and how to ask."

"What's there to ask? Isn't it just sex?"

"What did those Stiffs tell you? To just lay on your back and take it? There are so many ways to do it, and half the fun is figuring out what makes being with the guy good." Tris let out a contemplative sigh, like she didn't believe her. "Take Rafael, for example. He's not super-muscular or tall, and his cock is just average, maybe even a little small. But he has a tongue that can tie cherry stems." It got a quick chuckle.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means, he makes up for what's lacking downstairs with some very impressive oral."

"He put his mouth down there?" Christina started giggling. "And you let him? That's repulsive."

"It's his tongue, and he sure seemed like he wanted to. And he didn't just fly by to say he did it, he staked a tent and camped there until I had to make him stop." She giggled when Tris squirmed.

"Why would you let him?" Tris crinkled her nose.

"Tris, trust me. It's worth trying with every guy that offers. And if they don't offer, you should probably call it off right there. Well, with how little you know, you might want to ask Four for it," she gently nudged her shoulder.

As uncomfortable as it was for Tris hearing Christina talk about the equity of 'sexy-times', as she called them, it certainly painted a much different picture than 'the talk' they got after faction meetings.

* * *

Christina went with Tris to her next counseling appointment and held her hand while she went over her sim again, talking for the first time about Matthew. She listened patiently as Melissa probed with questions and got Tris to think differently about her statements. Somehow, Christina was silent the entire time up until the very end, when she emphatically offered Melissa any help she could provide. Still, she was surprised when she was handed a note that indicated to the exact number how many pills Tris was supposed to have in her apartment.

While Tris fought and glared and yelled, Christina diligently read each label and scoured each cabinet, bag, drawer, and shelf for the little pill bottles. A small display of the collection formed on her table while Caleb watched, wide-eyed and concerned, so Tris couldn't reclaim any.

"Is that all of them?" Christina asked, counting out the number of bottles.

"If I was actually an addict, all those bottles would be empty."

"If you weren't an addict, you wouldn't hoard them so you can take more than you're prescribed," Christina challenged with her own glare.

Christina combined the bottles, counted out the number of each, and then emptied them one by one into a bag, tossing the containers in the trash. With all the pills collected together, she pushed them into her pocket so she could have them incinerated at Candor.

"You'll thank me later," Christina assured.

"Whatever. You don't understand." Tris stomped to her room.

Christina turned her sights on Caleb. "How did you let this happen? You were supposed to be keeping an eye on her."

"I don't know! None of us thought her taking too much was going to be the problem. You all said, 'Make sure she takes them and watch out for the warning signs'. I watched her take them almost every morning and every night, I swear. And she was coping really well, not depressed or anything… How was I supposed to know?"

"You didn't notice anything, really? Nothing different at all?" Christina wanted to throw him through the door; instead, she clutched her purse and set her sights on the incinerator.

* * *

**Now, for the fiction recommendations:**

**CJGWilliams has been pumping out the fluff (and a little angst), I recommend you go read.**

**I also finally read the complete catalog of Milner (yeah, I'm a bad, bad fandom member) and they are all superb. I was a little upset to see she amputated limbs before I did, but great minds must think a like.**

**Just remember that reviews are like currency in the fanfiction business and pop something in the box below or send me a PM or an ask or fanmail on Tumblr, you'll always get a thank you note in return.**


	25. CH25: Train to no where

Beta services by Milner and grammar assistance from BK2U.

I'm just gonna say... hang with me here.

* * *

Tris eyed the blank sheet with the official Candor seal at the top, and the ominous title 'Chicago v. Tobias Eaton'. She had three more hours to fill it out and file it before the deadline, but every time she looked at the guide that Tobias's lawyer had provided, she couldn't bring herself to write the words to answer the first prompt: Instigating event or series of events.

She knew the label they wanted; it was the same one Christina and Melissa and Amar had all used. The same one that condemned the victim disguised as 'Member of the Bureau' in the case description, the same one that she couldn't quite apply herself. The truth was that she didn't fight him. She didn't do anything to make him stop; she didn't use any of her training. She was the top ranked initiate, the first jumper, and she let it happen, so how was it all his fault? How did he deserve what he got?

She thought about crumpling it up, tossing it in the waste bin. Four was the one who made the decision to be impulsive, to be violent and take out his misplaced anger on someone else. Maybe he should face the consequences. But she stopped short; he could have killed Matthew, and depending on how close he came, there was a chance he could be put to death. In comparison, humiliating herself in front of her faction leaders seemed like a sacrifice worth making.

She put her pen to paper and summarized how her first night with Matthew went all wrong in the little space provided. Then she focused on the next prompt, asking why there was no alternative available to seek justice. That one was at least easier: the Bureau was remote, and getting there required planning. Besides, how would anyone in Chicago ever bring charges against a 'Member of the Bureau'?

The last prompt –whether she saw Tobias's actions as justified– was another one that took thought. If he knocked Matthew out, maybe that was justified. If Matthew ended up with some bruises, maybe that, too, was justified. If Four had used all the tools and strength at his disposal, Matthew could be on life support.

She slid the paper into her bag and made her apologies to her boss. She found her way into the belly of Candor's justice system, getting the sideways glances and raised eyebrows as they judged her mismatched outfit. She got lost; all the hallways were uniform and she struggled with the directions she was given, but eventually, she found the office of Tobias's Candor lawyer.

"I need to know the condition of this 'Bureau Member' before I can respond to the last prompt," she stated, taking a seat opposite a cross-looking woman.

"You know, Dauntless is the only faction that has a category called 'justified' in their legal codes?" she grumbled, pulling out a case file. "I don't see it surviving the next revision given all that happened," she groused, flipping through the pages until she found the medical description.

"Victim: Matthew Dekker, aged 31, male, five-foot nine inches and one hundred and seventy pounds. Assailant — allegedly—," she added, glancing over her glasses, "Tobias Eaton, aged 19, male, six-foot three inches and one hundred and ninety pounds. Injuries sustained: broken nasal bone; fractured occipital bone — that's the back of the skull; fractured lower mandible, in two places; fractured right zygomatic — cheekbone; fracture to the right clavicle — collarbone; defensive bruising to the forearms; concussion; and two teeth dislodged during the incident." She flipped the pages back over and looked at her without expression. "So says the medical report, anyways. How do you rate that on your scale of justice?"

Tris swallowed hard, looking down at her partially finished paperwork. "Let me finish my statement, I'll have it to you in a moment." She stepped into the hallway and put the paper against the wall before scrawling her agreement that the injuries were justified, from her perspective. She couldn't make eye contact as she set the sheet on the desk and left.

She lied because she loved him, because he could die for what he did. And because deep down she believed, or at least hoped, that he only did those things because he loved her back, too, and not because of what he lost when he found out the extent of her relationship.

* * *

"Well, this seems to be clear-cut." The Candor judge shrugged, glancing at Harrison and Fiona, who were agreeing by his side. All the councilors nodded emphatically in approving anticipation, while Johanna shrugged indifferently from the side gallery; she was just there to appease the Bureau representatives.

The judge continued, "The sentencing guidelines dictate a minimum of two weeks, maximum of four. Considering the pressure from the outside, um, 'government', the severity of the beating, and the defenseless nature of the victim, I'm inclined to recommend the max. But let me confirm with the governing faction leaders."

Four had to contain the groan that started in his throat when they all, again, nodded in agreement, outside of his Candor-appointed lawyer. She jumped to her feet, arguing swiftly that the likelihood of recurrence was low and access was limited. But the Bureau goon at the other table was equally quick to bark over his Candor representative to describe the devastation and the utter inability of Matthew to defend himself. The broken jaw, the smashed nose, the missing teeth and fractured collarbone were all displayed in a garish collage of photos and x-rays in the corner, as if they could forget.

Fiona solemnly nodded as she whispered back and forth with Harrison; he was slightly more animated, and an occasional word or phrase was audible. A cross, sideways glance and an admonishing tone from the judge had Harrison and Fiona turning to each other and discussing, their confidence visibly shaken by the reprimand. Four didn't like the look they exchanged — Harrison looked pleadingly at Fiona, who only looked sternly back. They both glanced at Johanna who kept her eyes on the photos.

Fiona gave Harrison one more uneasy glance before turning back to the judge who nodded, and motioned for her to speak. "Generally, we Dauntless lock people up in the pen for this, but given the current circumstances of our faction, we can't really afford that. As a compromise, you've been overheard over the years repeatedly stating a disdain for one of our faction's primary roles: patrolling the fence. It seems only fitting that we take advantage of this fact as a way to both punish you and also allow you to continue to serve the faction. Four weeks of fence patrol, you leave on the four o'clock train this afternoon. Until you leave, Amar will be responsible for you."

At this, the Bureau councilor was back on his feet, bickering about complicity and escape risk, but was quickly silenced by the bang of Fiona's fist on the table. Amar was collected from the hallway where he'd been waiting since his questioning about the simulation. Four contemplated, limply: four weeks of walking in circles, and a four-week delay in fixing things with Tris.

"So, what'd you get?" Amar's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Four weeks on the fence." He crinkled his nose.

Amar's wide grin brought a smile to Four's face. "That's not so bad. When do you leave?"

"This afternoon. You're my babysitter."

"Well, the food out there is lacking, so let's start with that last meal."

"The food down there was lacking," he countered.

"If you think that was bad, you're in for a real treat out there," Amar said as he cut a path through the meandering crowd clogging the hallway.

Four looked around at all the waiting faces that had come to gawk and spread gossip, his still bandaged hands drawing attention. He scanned their faces intently. "Did Tris...you know?"

"Hmm?" Amar shrugged.

"Is she?" Four chopped, dreading that saying his thought out loud might make it a reality.

"Use your big boy words," Amar huffed, pulling him up to walk alongside him so he didn't have to crane his neck.

"Is Tris still training, or did she quit?" Four held his breath.

"She stopped for the first week, but she's been here every day this week. Christina convinced her to keep going," Amar assured, and he let out a breath. The lunch line trailed out into the hallway, pressed up against the wall by the steady stream of traffic.

"Will she be here today?" Four shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his face turned down, avoiding the glances as people passed.

"I think so." Amar squinted his eyes and groaned. "They want you on the four, that's… she's been coming on that one, or the five-fifteen."

"Right, yeah. Harrison would think of that," he groused. "But you'll send updates, right? How she's doing?"

"Sure, sure. As much as I can. I don't always keep track of the shifts well enough to catch someone. But when George goes up and Zeke, I'll make sure they update you."

* * *

Zeke caught up with them on their way back to Four's apartment. He didn't even wait for them to get through the hallway before he was spilling out updates that he'd been bottling up just for him. Four had to take a deep breath and remind himself to be patient, that he'd eventually get to ask his questions.

"You didn't tell anyone why, right? I mean, I don't think she'd want everyone to know."

"No, no. All I've been saying is that I didn't know, just that you must have had a good reason," Zeke assured.

"Okay, good." Four nodded briskly, slipping his key into the door.

Zeke burst past him, clapping his hands and ready to help. "Alright, rule number one: you can never have enough socks," Zeke announced, helping himself to shuffling through Four's chest of drawers. He pulled out the box of condoms Rafael had stashed and wiggled his eyebrows. "You might want these, too."

Four snatched them from him and threw them back in the drawer, shutting it quickly. "I think I can pick out my own socks," he huffed, opening the second drawer down. The last thing he wanted was to face the fact that the next person he might sleep with wouldn't be Tris, and given that, it wouldn't be anytime soon. The simple joke soured his mood to a nearly uncomfortable level.

When they had packed what they insisted he needed and they'd given him all the advice they had to give, Zeke heaved him up onto his feet and pulled him out into the hallway. Four had lost what little was left of his patience somewhere around the argument about boxers, blister tape and something about ticks. He was ready to get back into solitary confinement.

"What's your deal?" Four shoved Zeke, hard enough that he could tell it wasn't a joke.

"You're going to miss the train," Zeke insisted returning a playful, but still rough shove.

"I have twenty minutes." He pushed again and they jostled back and forth, Zeke playful and light, and Four with increasing aggravation.

"Seriously, if you want to see Tris you have to get to the last stop. Five minutes would be better than nothing, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah! It would." Four straightened his gait and walked a little faster, then slowed a step. "She doesn't want to see me. I'm the last person she'll want near her."

"She wants to see you. She asked me about you yesterday," Zeke insisted, but it would take more than simple assurances to erase his doubts.

"She gave that statement," Amar offered as further proof. But given Tris's nature, if the choice was to help or to withhold, he knew she'd help every time.

* * *

The train was coming into the station just as they got there. Amar took the pack from Four, freeing him up to fight through the small group of factionless that claimed the surrounding part of town.

She only looked small when he had time to think about it. It crossed his mind once, in initiation, that she was projecting how she felt, how she saw herself; or maybe he was projecting onto her how he thought she should feel. In either case, she looked fragile, worn out, and thinner sitting on the bench. Her skin lacked its usual vibrance and luster, and her hair was tatted and hastily pulled back.

She came alive when she took in the black pants and his un-Dauntless boots as they settled into her fixed stare.

"Hey, Tris. I'm really glad you're on this train." He smiled at her, letting his shoulders relax when the corner of her mouth tugged up into a grin before he nervously said, "I've missed you these last few weeks."

Tris's initial pleasure soured in a snap of emotions. "You've missed me?" she spat. "It's your fault."

"What?" He shook his head, trying to reconcile her reddening face.

"I cannot believe you! You almost killed him!"

"I was just defending you."

"I don't need defending. I had to lie to a Candor lawyer. A Candor lawyer, of all people, so that they wouldn't kill you for what you did."

"He got what he deserved."

"You bashed his head in. You broke his jaw in two places!"

Four took a deep breath and stepped closer to her. She lurched up, chest out and challenging. The train started moving exactly when she stood, causing her to collide with him. They were a falling, jostling mess on the floor. Her hands wrapped around him as he unsuccessfully tried to keep his head from hitting the floor. His friends stymied their laughs in cuffed fists and tried not to stare, backing away into the far corner and corralling the gaping faction members.

Tris recoiled, pushing his shoulders and smacking his hands off of her. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!" She stood quickly. "I thought you wanted to be different. I thought you wanted to be more than just a meathead Dauntless guard! But you're some kind of monster! You're just like him!"

Four gaped at her, crinkling his fists and trying to stay still.

"What? Did I get it wrong? Am I next?" She glanced at his white knuckles. Four loosened his fists, cowing.

"Tris," Amar and Zeke interjected at the same time.

"Don't Tris me." She lined herself up at the door.

"Tris," Zeke came to her side quietly, watching Four pull himself up to his feet, livid and biting his tongue. "He's gonna be at the fence for a month. Don't leave things like this."

She glanced at him and jumped as soon as the ground was level.

Zeke shook Four's hand quickly, stammering about how she didn't mean it and that she was just upset, adding that he'd see him in about a week. Amar briskly repeated the same motions, slapping him on the back.

All of them were in the air and landing as Dauntless fell behind. Four fell back onto the bench in the now empty train car. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking, but eventually took out his frustrations by launching his pack across the train car.

* * *

Four was immediately assaulted with vulgar expressions of surprise. A chair warmer like him rarely saw the inner workings of Dauntless's most ubiquitous profession. Throw in that they all know he's a Stiff and he had tortured them through drills for a couple of years and it was getting hard to bite his tongue against the abuse. He figured it would wear off when his being there wasn't so novel, every week bringing in a fresh rotation.

The first evening he was met with a barrage of jeers when he walked from the rotation office to the mess hall, and even more between the bunkhouses where a crowd had gathered to taunt him. A groaning unrest came from two guys when the assignment of who else would be walking with him came out over the loudspeaker, ending with a little bit of positivity from the crowd when they added that he'd be taking up a rotation slot for four weeks straight. Still, he was pretty sure he'd have to fuck somebody up to get them to stop pestering him long enough to get some sleep.

His first team was at least familiar to him. But, they were content to keep to themselves the first day. Their silence suited him fine as he rolled Tris's words over and over in his head. Replaying the spit that slipped off her lips when she yelled, the way her pupils narrowed and her nostrils flared when she said he was a monster. It was like she was seeing the real him for the first time. He was used to taking the blame, absorbing criticism being a defect in his character, but not this time. He had expected the self-loathing to set in, but was caught off-guard by an intense feeling of indignation and injustice.

He had defended her. He took care of her. He made sure Matthew would think twice before ever touching a girl like that again. He did a public service, and she called him a monster. If she never wanted him to touch her, fine, maybe he never should have cared in the first place. Four sent a stick flying to punctuate his conclusion. The rest of his day, he listed every negative thing that had happened to him since she came to initiation, setting the score in his head for how bad she had been for him since the beginning.

By the second day, his walking partners were more inquisitive – eventually, he worked out that they'd had their memories erased. Two of the more promising wipes that seemed to retain something from before, who'd passed through Amar's retraining program and were reintegrating. Their questions and conversations proved to be a relieving distraction to his oscillating thoughts.

One thing they seemingly didn't forget was how to hold a poker face. When they entered the long, hot trail between posts one and two, they started to make wagers between themselves. Then between each other and Four. And once they had let him win a few and the stakes were being pushed higher and higher, they doubled up on him. The bet was if they didn't see a rabbit between there and the next post, they'd carry Four's pack the rest of the lap and make dinners. If they did, he'd have to get two piercings –each one getting to pick a location– and a haircut to fit in with the faction, just like they were told to.

It was a stupid bet. He knew nothing about the southern fence or the guys he was with, but it seemed like a safe one to take: they hadn't seen a rabbit in miles, until they couldn't go ten feet without tripping over one skittering across the path.

Four grimaced as his hair fell in patches and the straight razor came out. At least the chill of the exposed skin on the sides of his head felt refreshing, a feeling that didn't last as he watched the needle be sterilized. His hesitation about looking Dauntless had always been based in not belonging, and now they were making him one of them.

He accepted his fate with the same attitude as he approached tattoos. The sting would refocus him, remind him that the clenching pain that overtook his breaths would recede, dissipate, become nothing more than a memory. Piercings had the added benefit that the modifications were temporary, removable; a fitting metaphor for closing out his relationship with Tris.

He felt almost flippant about the trivial pain of one hole, until Greg approached with a heavy gauge needle and a bar, punching two larger holes in the cartilage of his right ear to slide a bar straight through them. More than one on-looker was astonished at how he took a single sharp breath and slowly let it out, not letting any other indication cross his face.

"Not even human," Greg commented, unnerved. He turned and asked the second wipe, "Where's the next one going?"

"Penis," he said with a jut of his eyebrow and a slim smile.

"No!" Four snapped, sitting up straighter, his thighs clamping together involuntarily. The crowd laughed.

"Fine…" Greg was directed to slip a much smaller ring through Four's lower lip, slightly off center to the right. The terms of the bet were that he'd keep them in the whole time he was at the fence.

He nodded with an eye roll, teasing the new wound with the tip of his tongue. He got a few handshakes and slaps on the back, and more than a dozen hands rubbed his still moist head as the entire crowd sprouted up in exuberant cheers. The tingling burn of the fresh holes gave him a little distraction at the top of the wall, but his mind still mulled over whether Tris liked piercings, and then quickly, how it didn't really matter if she did.

{}

With one lap completed, he got one day to rest – to stand on the top of the fence in the sun and try not to fall asleep. But the lack of movement, the lack of purpose, led his mind to wander to Tris and how she shoved him on the train. How she must wake up from her nightmares with his face stuck in her mind. How she thought he was worse than his father, or perhaps it was Matthew she was comparing him to. He stood, toes at the edge, hoping his anxiety over the height would distract him.

Without Tris, all he had left was Dauntless. He spent that night playing soccer in the field outside of the barracks. He traded taunts and jabs, embracing the life and forgetting everything for a few hours. He smiled and laughed. He got invited to play poker, and tromped back into the barracks confronted by a crowd closed around a bed and the unmistakable sounds of sex. Watching the two people, sweating and moaning felt like too much, over the line. He hit the showers and came back after everyone had dissipated.

He was up early and in front of the office as the sun broke over the other side of the fence. The cold coffee cooked late on the prior day was his only comfort so early. The first woman that stepped up from around the corner was tall and slim; tan, with dark green hair. Her arms were defined and tattoos etched up under her tank top. She had her bag tightly packed: it was small, filled with only the bare essentials. She looked sleepy, but smiled when she saw him.

"So, what you do to get this gig?"

"Broke some rules," he admitted. The downside of being the drill instructor was that everyone knew him and no one introduced themselves. He debated about asking, admitting that he'd never committed this girl to memory.

A second woman came trotting around the corner, disheveled and trying to stuff something into her bag, catching his attention and diverting his debate. She looked so similar, she could have been her sister, and he assumed she was. She was a little smaller, a little rounder in the face and hips, and her hair was bright red.

"Sorry, sorry," she stammered, stepping right past them and onto the trail. "My watch is off."

The first girl rolled her eyes. "I set it for you last night."

"Shut up."

At first, he was amused by their back and forth, not exactly used to hearing unfiltered girl talk. But a few side statements and some grab ass down the first hill and Four was out of his element. It was clear they were not sisters. If he stayed in front of them, he didn't have to watch their continuous flirtations, and ignoring them behind him was less uncomfortable.

* * *

The sleeping arrangements were problematic, especially when it started raining, and would continue for the next four days of their shift around the fence. The outposts only had one room and he couldn't sleep in the rain, though he briefly considered it when the springs squeaked as they joined each other on the bed, only inches from him. It was tough to suppress his base instincts to jerk himself off to their eager giggles and hushed whispers, or the slippery sounds of friction.

Instead he watched, frozen in place as their remaining articles of clothing were discarded, the slick sounds melding with pleasurable ones as they kissed each other, their hands roaming and disappearing from his view. His eyes went wider, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight as the one with green hair buried her head between the other's thighs. Watching their movements and listening to their moans, he carefully tugged open his button, hoping neither would hear his clothes shuffle as he gave into his urges. The springs of his cot squeaked; he froze. They stopped almost immediately and he heard a whisper, then a giggle, and then an agreement.

It was nearly impossible to think when the girl with the red hair reached out, moaning as she traced the seam of his pants, then his length, quickly opening his fly and assuring him that they wouldn't say a word that no one would ever know.

He didn't stop her when she extracted him. She pulled on him roughly, prompting him to move closer to her, standing beside her cot. She held him firmly in her grip and flexed his foreskin up over his head and back down his shaft in a rhythmic motion he couldn't have devised himself. A moan escaped on a constrained breath, and he clamped his mouth shut to hold in any more. Her pace picked up, trying to coerce more out of him. He failed to stifle a whine when she stopped, releasing him only strokes away from spilling. He wasn't fast enough to take over and preserve her progress, too enthralled with watching her shiver from her own pleasure.

They switched places, the girl with the green hair pulling on the waist of his pants, urging him up onto the mattress by her head, giving him a much better view of the red-haired girl's movements in between her thighs. She started slow, settling into a similar pace with the unmistakable addition of the flick of her tongue on his tip; he wondered if it was the same movement she had used only moments before. He closed his eyes and felt her occasionally take his head in her mouth, the vibrations of her moans persuading him to come. When she became too erratic, too overcome by her own pleasure, he took over and finished himself off, unable to tell which limb belonged to which woman, or where he was aiming.

He sat back on the edge of the mattress and watched as they finished. Seeing them collapse into each other afterward, the red-haired girl snuggling her face into her partner's chest and kissing her in a way he'd only been kissed once, sent a sharp pang through him.

His assumptions about the warm embrace of one or both of them for the night slipped out of his mind as the red-haired girl caught him staring, shoving him off the cot. "What are you gaping at? Get some sleep, pervert. Show's over."

"Be nice," the green-haired girl said, yawning as she spoke.

Four zipped himself up and stretched out on his bed, the slight breeze through the cracks in the windows chilling him. Part of him knew he should get used to it, that Dauntless was going to be nothing more than a string of hook-ups, and that none of them would come with the softer side of a relationship.

* * *

Oh, Morris Albert, Four's theme song... picture it: Four standing on the wall at dusk, seeing the city off in the distance. The lights come on just as he's realizing there's no one else around...Zeke takes up the serenade from the base of the ladder... hoarsely carrying an off-pitch tune...

_Feelings, nothing more than feelings... Trying to forget my feelings of love..._

_I wish I've never met you, girl...You'll never come again_

_Feelings, feelings like I've never lost you_

_And feelings like I'll never have you again in my heart_

_Feelings, for all my life I'll feel it...I wish I've never met you, girl; you'll never come again_

Let me know your thoughts in the comments.


	26. CH26: Yo-Yo

**My best regards to the ever present Milner and persistent BK2U. And also to all those outraged reviewers letting me know exactly how invested you are.**

**I give you, Chapter 26...**

* * *

When Zeke landed, he expected her to be waiting, but Tris was already trotting towards the doorway, pushing past the guard. Her outburst was unexpected; the way she pushed every button he knew Four had was shocking. He turned to Amar for an explanation, but he looked just as unsure.

"What the fuck was that?" Zeke asked.

"I have no idea. That's not at all what we discussed." Amar shook his head. "I didn't realize she was so mad. She seemed okay yesterday."

"You think he might have missed that monster thing?"

"Not a chance. I'm gonna call the office up there, give them a heads up. Maybe he takes the time to think it through, calms down on the train." Amar blew a long burst of air through his puckered lips.

"Where do you think she went?"

Amar shrugged. "To find Christina, probably."

"I'll check on her." Zeke scowled, formulating the verbal assault he wanted to launch when he found her.

Amar read his mind. "Zeke, listen first, okay? Then say your piece. Just a tip."

Zeke wandered first to the training room and then to the dining hall. Christina was in neither location. He hovered outside the locker room, the only place he couldn't check himself, and eavesdropped on the gossip as the girls passed. It became apparent that Tris was taking up a stall in a hysterical state.

He busied himself with the nearby weights and watched the doorway. Eventually, Christina led her out; her fingertips were loosely entwined with Tris's. Tris looked exhausted and her lip was still quivering, her red, puffy eyes glued to her feet. A few of the girls stopped to stare, shaking their heads and murmuring their disbelief that she was ever the first-ranked initiate. Zeke cast them a glare before following them out and down the street to the train station nearest the compound.

Christina dropped Tris's hand and left her to wait at the lamppost, turning to meet Zeke a dozen feet away. Tris hugged herself and Christina eyed her warily.

"What happened?" Christina whispered.

"She let him have it." He shook his head. "If I knew she was that mad, I wouldn't have gotten him on the train early."

"What exactly did she say?" Christina's eyes didn't move from her.

"Stuff… Bad stuff." Zeke shrugged.

"She says it's over between them. Is it?"

"Isn't that what she wants?" he mumbled.

"I don't think so."

"She called him a monster because of what he did." Christina grimaced. "Then, when he got angry, she asked if she was next."

"Ouch."

"No, you don't understand…" Zeke turned away from Tris, lowering his voice even more. "In his sims, he hurts her. He might even kill her, he didn't say."

Christina's eyes opened wider. "Shit, that can't be good. I'm gonna take her home and keep an eye on her. I don't think she should be alone. We'll be back tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure." He didn't believe her; Tris looked a million miles away from being back in Dauntless. He watched Tris's small movements towards the tracks. "She looks like she's gonna jump." He pursed his lips, focusing on the sound of the oncoming train, watching Tris broaden her small steps, her eyes on the tracks. Christina launched herself over to stand in front of Tris, whose shoulders slumped in defeat.

Despite his impression, they both showed up the next day. He watched her run slow laps with Christina, in disbelief that someone so miserable-looking could have the will to move. Christina left her side and moved over to the bars, but continued to watch Tris trod along her path. Something about Tris distracted him, refused to let him focus. Zeke tried to get in reps on his punching bag; he would count out each set of hits, then look up in between to locate Tris around the edge of the room.

It calmed him, even made him feel silly, until he looked up and she wasn't running. She wasn't at the bars. She wasn't on the wall. She wasn't at the punching bags or the water fountain. Christina was hanging upside down, lifting herself into inverse crunches, seemingly unaware. He toweled off as casually as he could, and crossed the gym.

"Hey, Christina? Tris done for the day?" he asked, still searching each face and physique for her.

"No, she's running…" She glanced around then swung down. She was already moving when she cursed and headed to the locker room.

She came out with a shake of her head, panic setting in. Zeke watched her spin around, looking at every person on every piece of equipment.

"Okay, maybe she went home?"

"Zeke, start looking." Christina took off down the hallway towards the dining hall.

Zeke scrunched his nose, irritated that somehow this just became his hunt, too. He turned down the opposite direction with much less urgency, unwrapping the tape off his knuckles. He glanced around the Pit, the evening rush over and the number of people manageable. She didn't seem to be there, or on the pathways up to the roof.

Something small by the chasm caught his eye; his subconscious dragged his mind back even after his eyes dismissed it as a backpack. It was Tris, clutching her knees tight to her body, with her shoulder resting against the post of the rusted bars that kept her from falling.

His adrenaline kicked in, panic took over. She was one swing of her legs away from plummeting into the rough water below. He finally understood Christina's concern.

"Tris?" he asked when he got closer, trying not to startle her, but hoping to still be heard over the water. She didn't move. He called again, sure he was close enough, and she still didn't move. She was looking down at the rushing water, her face blank, realizing for the first time the hint of bravery in her cowardly contemplation. She didn't want it to hurt. She didn't want anything to hurt anymore. But the fear of the impact, or of not dying until she was pulled under, drowning one failed gasp at a time, overwhelmed her desire.

Zeke slipped his hands under her arms and quickly pulled her back before she could struggle, shocked at how limp she became. Christina was dodging through the growing crowd to find Tris, still curled on her side, at Zeke's feet.

"I'll take her home." She crouched next to her.

"Christina, she needs to go to Janice."

"It's fine. I'll take her home."

"Christina, we have protocols now. She _has_ to go to Janice."

"Protocols?"

"There's not enough of us as it is, we can't let half the faction toss themselves over." He leaned down and pulled Tris to her feet. Tris complied only to the point of supporting her own weight and moving her legs to catch herself.

* * *

"Are you coming?" Christina asked, snapping Tris out of her carb-induced haze. She was stuck staring at the remnants of their shared slice of cake. Tris had been spending every evening at Dauntless, trying to train, and eating dinner with her faction. It was the little steps that Melissa had suggested to keep her positive during the remaining transition off the medication. Under no circumstances was Tris to be left alone.

"What? To where?" Her head felt heavy; her eyelids were droopy, her speech was slowed and her reactions delayed. She felt like shit. If it weren't for Christina, she wouldn't get out of bed in the morning. And if it weren't for her boss being generous, she'd have been reprimanded for being late on more than one occasion.

"Camping," Christina insisted. She was desperate for a way to get Tris out of her routine, out of the funk of withdrawal and medication adjustments. And she wanted a little break where more eyes were on Tris than just hers and she could relax.

"Oh, camping. Sure. What is it?" she asked, her tone lacking any sense of curiosity.

"Well, we pack up stuff and tents, and we walk out away from town and build fires, drink booze, and have fun. We go every year," Zeke stated. "It's tradition."

"Away from town? Like Amity?" She perked up a little.

Zeke leaned in, "This year, we're going outside the fence."

She shrugged, unimpressed. "Okay. When?"

"This weekend." Christina smiled.

"I'll ask Caleb." She got a disapproving glance from Zeke. "I'll tell Caleb?" He nodded in approval.

"This is going to be so fun," Christina added to assure Tris, but also to convince herself. Being around Tris had not been fun so far, and keeping her own spirits up was starting to become difficult.

{}

Tris and Cristina packed their belongings into borrowed rucksacks and hopped the train Friday morning. They rode it out to the northernmost point in the city and jumped. It was a long walk to the wall, the towering height above them missing all the soldiers that decorated the Amity gate. A small, single-file path meandered along the bricks and Tris knew instantly that this is where Four had been, or would be on one of his laps around the city.

She thought through her possessions for a moment before remembering with a pout that Christina had removed her notebook and her pen. She took a stick and dug the number four into the path, followed by a plus sign and a T for her. She wondered if he'd see it or if it would survive to be seen, and hoped he would know she was sorry. By the time she was done, she was the last one to pass through the heavy door at the base, Ro locking it behind her with the keypad.

* * *

"Oh, this is perfect!" Ro declared, entering the flat clearing at the edge of the lake. They were nearly two hours past the fence, with four in total spent breaking a trail through the marsh and mud of the watershed.

Christina sighed with relief, dropping her pack and stretching tall. Zeke started to scout out flat ground for a tent, instructing Tris on where to begin setting up. She pulled out the rods, laid them out and started looking around to cheat off the others. Eventually, she figured out how they were supposed to be latched together to form an A-frame and then threw the heavy tarp over. By the time she was struggling with the corners and trying to situate it so that it was evenly distributed, Christina reappeared with Derrick, assisted in finishing it off, then dragged him inside with an excited squeal.

With camp made, the booze came out and a stack of firewood was being collected from the nearby decaying structures. Tris stole a large plank from the pile and pulled out a few bricks from what used to be a garage, dropping them with a grin in front of Zeke's tent.

"Collections for the factionless?" he asked, sipping from his flask before offering it to her.

"No, it's a bench. So you don't have to sit on the ground." She sniffed the solution and winced at the fumes, then took a hesitant taste.

"That's the point of camping… getting back to nature." He caught the flask when she tossed it back.

"Okay, let your ass get wet if it rains." She shrugged and started to pull the materials back up, catching him off guard. She'd always been so reserved with him.

"Hold on, let's see your bench." He shuffled to help her, and settled down on one side while she hunkered on the other. He passed her the flask, nudging her with his shoulder, trying to lighten her up. "So, how much booze is it going to take to get you to go swimming?"

"Swimming? I don't swim." She blushed.

"I know, neither does Four. Never learned, right? So he says, anyways." Tris winced at his name.

"Sort of breaks the modesty code," she confirmed and wiped her palms on her pants, waiting for the flask to be passed back.

"So? You're not Abnegation anymore. You can learn tomorrow," he prodded, handing it to her.

"Oh, darn. No swimsuit." She snapped her fingers, taking another sip.

"Swimsuit?" He laughed. "We don't wear swimsuits. What do you think you got skin for?"

Tris started to blush profusely, not sure how to respond. Christina was giggling inside the tent, providing a high-pitched distraction that she instantly wished she'd never heard. Tris cringed, hearing the clinking of belts and rustling of clothes and grabbed the flask back before Zeke could take a swig. She gulped a mouthful, and then another.

"We need more of you Abnegation types. You're both hilarious." Tris sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, Zeke's nonchalant mentions of Four catching her off-guard every time. A subtle reminder that he was Four's friend.

He had to rescue his flask and help Tris carry the bench closer to the fire, farther from the whispers that were swiftly devolving into guttural moans. Everyone started to gather the different pots, and some of the boys disappeared down to the shore to attempt to get some fish.

"So, did you mean what you said?" Zeke asked, forcing the flask back into her hands.

"No! Maybe," she whispered, drinking. "He scares me, what he can do. What he did."

"He was just trying to protect you."

"I wasn't being threatened."

"Look, I would have done the same thing. Someone can't hurt a Dauntless woman and get away with it. It's just not tolerated."

"Dauntless women can take care of themselves," she snapped.

"Yeah, they can, but they aren't alone. Every year, more women fail out than men. Every year, good girls get tossed out for being weaker than the rest. The ones that do make it, they're just too special to risk." He smiled, nudging her again and taking back his flask.

"I wish I never said it. I just… I couldn't stop myself."

Zeke put his arm around her. It was uncomfortable for Tris initially, a gesture usually reserved for Tobias or Christina. But something about how Zeke laid his forearm on her shoulder made it more fraternal. She didn't even notice when he inhaled the scent of her hair.

"So… what do you guys do when you go camping?" Tris asked, the warmth of the alcohol starting to circulate in her veins.

"Well, we drink, we fish, hike, stay up late and sleep in, and we swim. And, if there's any girls..." he added to see her squirm. "Not you. You know, if you don't want to. But it could be a fun weekend for Christina. Seems to be starting out alright."

Tris looked around; the two other girls that came on the trip had vanished, and more than a few eyes were locked in her direction. "You sure no one's going to try?" she whispered, sliding a little closer to him.

"Well, I mean, they might make a pass at you. But just say you're still with Four and they'll back off. Sort of the golden rule, both people gotta be into it." He smiled at her, an amused chuckle in his throat.

"And the stories about the fence?"

"Well, even here, if you want discretion, you can find it. Seems like you should give it a bit of time, though." He gave her a stern warning glance.

"No, not me. Him," she muttered, throwing a block of wood on the building pyre.

"I doubt it. He's such a prude. I mention sex and he turns red, sort of like you. He's far too busy walking, anyways."

"There was a girl in the locker room yesterday, she said she'd make him into a trophy."

"I think the direct approach most girls take will be enough to scare him off. Don't worry about him. Have fun while you're here. You're part of us now, with or without him." Zeke squeezed her tighter, letting her lean her head against his chest.

Christina and Derrick shuffled out of the tent when they could smell the heated contents of canned beans and the crisping of fish skin. Zeke dropped his arm, and clapped while Tris shifted over, putting a foot between them on the bench.

Tris smirked, seeing Christina's shirt on inside-out, and refused to give her a plate until she washed her hands. Derrick received his congratulatory pats on the back and couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he wandered through the guys on the other side of the fire.

"What'd I miss?" Christina plopped between Zeke and Tris.

"Nothing… Only I put up the tent by myself, then I found firewood, and I made a bench, and then I cooked that food…" Tris lectured, freer now that the flask had been significantly depleted between her and Zeke.

"Okay, but I haven't been laid in like over a month," Christina defended, intercepting the flask.

"That's it?" Zeke laughed. "I went five months after Shauna got shot. It almost killed me. My nuts were going to rot off."

"Really?" Christina craned her neck, glancing down between his legs. "Lucky for us all, they didn't."

Zeke quickly snapped his knees together, and continued with some sense of shame for stating it in the first place.

"She can still, you know, feel stuff?" Christina asked.

"It's not exactly the same as it used to be, that's for sure. At first, she just wasn't up to it… mentally or physically. But eventually we tried some stuff and she wasn't feeling it the same as she used to." He shrugged before the liquor loosened his lips again. "But we're back on track. Especially if I take my time, get the toys out and rev her up. It got a whole lot better after the first procedure. And we go to the Bureau for another procedure when I get back from my next rotation. Hopefully, they can help her even more." He emphatically added, "But that's just between us. She doesn't want all the attention like last time."

"Which toys?" Christina wiggled an eyebrow.

"Like a teddy bear?" Tris asked, cocking her head to the side, trying not to imagine her childhood bear, Rupert, being humped on a bed.

"Not that kind of toy." Christina hushed her with a wave of her hands. "What are we talking here? Big purple dildos, or beads, or what?"

Zeke cast her a side glance. "She's not that adventurous, yet. But I've got this vibrator, glows in the dark! Really lights things up. It's my favorite view."

Tris eagerly took the flask, thankful when other people circled in and out of their conversations, keeping Zeke and Christina on more neutral ground.

Tris was woozy and spinning slightly when she stood and realized how dark it was. She borrowed a flashlight to go find a bush. Figuring out exactly how to squat and pee without getting it down her leg or on her pants took some thought and awkward shuffling, but in the end she managed. On her way back, the uneven terrain tripped her tipsy feet and she landed with a thud. Two strong hands were there to hoist her up.

"You okay?" a deep voice asked, hands still on her waist.

"Yeah. Thanks." She tried to step away, but staggered.

"Let me help." He pulled her into him.

She took a deep breath, smelling alcohol, uncertain if it was on her or him, and the distinct sweat of a man. Her mind raced to the worst corners of possibilities as the strange soldier took control of her body and navigated her steps with his powerful frame.

"You having fun?" he asked, his fingers splaying out on her rib cage, rubbing gently.

"Sure," she squeaked, trying to shift away from him.

"You and Zeke, eh?" he started, the hint clear in his tone.

"Oh, no. He's just a friend," she explained quickly, then questioned if she shouldn't have let him believe what he wanted.

"There's a lot of guys here that would like to be your friend. You know, for the night, just to see where things might go." His hand ran down and squeezed her hip.

"You know, I'm not… I'm... I'm still with Four," she stammered, hoping, praying that would be the end of it.

"Oh, okay." She could feel him shrug, and while he didn't adjust his grip, he moved on quickly to whether she'd be hiking with the group the next day, and delivered her back to the fireside where Zeke was blankly staring into the flames, alone.

"She's a bit drunk," he warned Zeke. "Shouldn't be stumbling in the dark by herself."

"Oh, thanks Ro." Zeke cushioned her uncoordinated fall back onto the bench. His arm stayed on her shoulder, like earlier.

"I'm tired," Tris announced, concentrating on bringing her heart rate back down.

"You're also out of luck. Christina, round two." He jerked his head towards their tent. "But, you can stay with me."

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, standing a little too fast and falling over the bench.

Zeke leaned over, grabbing her as she laughed and rubbed her skinned elbow. "You hurt?" She shook her head and he hauled her up in one swift motion. "You gonna get sick?" he asked as she leaned against him.

"Nope." She smiled up, taking a stumble towards the tent and falling back onto her knees. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back up on her feet.

"Careful, Tris." He ended up grabbing her shoulders while she walked, recalling similar nights with Shauna that didn't end as innocently as this would.

Zeke had one large mat folded in half, which he unfolded for her to have her own space. He spread his blankets out and put a pillow down on one side for her. He smoothed the corner back, his face suddenly serious.

"Now, if Four ever, _ever_, asks about this, we had two separate mats and your own set of blankets, okay? Like, regardless of what happens between you two, I think he'd kick my ass if he misunderstood." She nodded, crawling under the light cover. Zeke hovered, then pulled the blanket up over her shoulder, tossing out the bottom to cover her feet.

Tris waited until he was out of the tent to shimmy out of her pants, unable to sleep on the folds of the pockets and the edges of seams. She didn't even notice when Zeke joined her, probably hours later, but it was the kick of his feet to the back of her head that woke her up in the morning.

* * *

Tris glared as Christina pulled on her arm. She couldn't believe she was standing in her tank top and panties behind their tent, let alone considering walking to the water's edge.

"No one cares," Christina assured. "If anything, they'll find it hot. Most of them haven't ever gotten shot. You're the badass here."

"But…"

"Are you gonna fuck any of them?" Christina was losing her patience.

"No." She wiped her palms on her thighs.

"Then you don't care, either. Come on." Christina turned on her heels and tried to confidently walk away, assuming she'd follow. Tris shimmied out into the open and scampered to close the distance between her and Christina, nearly retreating when five guys were waiting to leer; a catcall went out. It took all of Christina's strength to hold Tris as she balked. "Not helping!" she shouted, and they shut up. "Ignore them. That's just jackass for 'I think you're cute'."

At the water's edge, a whole new fear settled in. Tris hadn't swum since they made them in primary school. The Abnegation were excused from swimming after puberty, the modesty required of them clashing with the available swimsuits.

"How deep is it?"

"Zeke is clearly standing." Christina waited, her patience renewed for something more legitimate than Tris's self-image. Zeke was splashing, naked, with five other guys, trying to keep one of them from retrieving a ball. Tris clamped her eyes shut and took steps into the murky shallows until she was waist-deep.

Tris squirmed and put her hand out to block her field of view as Zeke tugged up out of the water towards them. Christina licked her lips and took him in, always willing to watch a show.

"It's just a dick," he laughed. "Stiffs, eh?" he directed more at Christina. "Come on, we're playing keep away."

"I can't swim," Tris spat quickly.

"You don't need to. It's not deep." He grinned broadly and stepped towards her; she stepped backwards. His eyes lit up and he charged, scooping Tris up and flinging her further out. He ran after her and threw her again before she could get the water out of her eyes. Tris swallowed half the lake and came up gagging for air, thrashing to get her feet under her. Zeke pulled her along until she was finally in the circle, shocked and sputtering and more concerned about hacking up water than how the boys took her in.

Inevitably, she ended up in the middle of the circle, where she leapt and dodged in her attempts. She launched herself at Zeke immediately after he received the ball, knocking him over with a triumphant laugh. It took some tugging and a few well-placed knocks to get the ball out of his hands.

Tris roughhoused with the boys until she was sunburned and tired, and her stomach growled for lunch. Christina had long abandoned her to lay out on a rock, soaking up the sun and quietly chatting with Derrick. Tris couldn't help but be jealous, examining the spreading pink of her damaged shoulders and the sagging wet clothes that clung to her thin frame.

"Looking a little red." Zeke poked at her shoulder. "White girls should bring sunscreen."

"Somehow, my camping guru failed to realize the differences in our needs." She glared at him.

"Any of those pasty guys probably have some on them, you can always ask. Probably should for the walk back tomorrow."

"Yeah, I will. And thanks for bringing me."

"Yeah, of course. It's good to see you having fun." He fought the urge to glance down at her chest now that she was looking at him, her nipples clearly erect under the thin fabric.

"I want to thank you somehow." She stepped closer to him; his eyes widened and his mind raced.

"No thanks needed, it's tradition." He begged his eyes not to drop, alarmed at the familiar twitch of blood starting to move. He turned and shuffled out of the water quickly, grabbing his shorts from a rock and a towel, covering himself. "Just have a good time," he stammered, quickly pulling the fabric over his responding cock.

Out of habit, Tris turned her back so he could finish putting his clothes on. It was the first time he didn't tease her for it, the first time he was thankful she was a Stiff.

"If you want, we can grab your sleeping stuff so you have your own mat and blankets. You know, since Christina and Derrick don't seem to be quitting anytime soon." Tris glanced over to see Derrick straddling Christina, rubbing her back, undoing the clasp on her top.

"Yeah, probably should plan ahead. Sorry about her."

"It's okay. I don't like sleeping alone anyways. It's too quiet." He gave her the quickest of grins, before mentally slapping himself and setting out to gather more wood for the fire.

* * *

"So, Derrick, eh?" Zeke started, licking his fork free of beans.

Christina shrugged, a coy grin crossing her face. "He's nicer than I thought."

"If you like support staff," he teased. "I mean, a whole faction full of warriors and you're picking a supply manager."

"And what's wrong with being a supply manager?" Tris challenged.

"Uh, nothing." Zeke shrugged. "I'm just —."

"You know if there wasn't someone looking out for the factions, you all would have nothing. You can't sustain yourselves. You'd starve," she snapped.

"Tris, he's joking. He's teasing me." Christina put her palm on her back and stroked slowly.

"Yeah, sure. I know what everyone says about me when they think I can't hear them. How I'm a traitor for working for central government."

"You're here, you're one of us," Zeke insisted. "Who cares if a few shitheads say otherwise?"

The three of them sat in silence, Tris brewing over her sudden outburst, still angry, yet also embarrassed.

"Ok, let's try this again," Zeke sighed. He pulled out his empty flask and walked over to where a larger container was stashed, refilling it with expert care.

"You didn't need to jump down his throat like that," Christina said with as much sympathy as she could.

"I know. I don't know why I did."

"It's the drugs," Christina dismissed. "You'll feel better soon."

Zeke came back with his flask in hand. "Now, drink this." He shoved it at Tris, watching her comply, then shifted his sights to fall back on Christina. "Okay, Chris, are the rumors true?"

"What rumors?" She pulled the container from Tris's hands and helped herself.

"You know, about Derrick."

"Ooh, which ones? I haven't heard many." She playfully wiggled her shoulders.

"I heard from some ladies that he's got a stud in his dick."

Tris froze, mortified. She pulled the flask back and gulped a mouthful.

"What if he does, what if he doesn't?"

"I don't know, they said it was amazing. I'm always looking to improve. Care to add an anecdote?"

"Well, if you're up for adding a hole to your dong, go for it, but it didn't really do anything special for me."

"You think he's using it right?"

"Is there a wrong way?" Tris asked.

"Only if you're flat on your back every time," Christina cautioned, still trying to bolster Tris's appreciation for alternate positions. "Maybe we just haven't found the right angle yet. I'm not giving up until I've exhausted the options."

"So you don't like him, like him? It's just for fun?" Tris asked.

"He's nice, he's funny. We'll see."

"But like, you don't _like_ him?"

"No, Tris. I like having a cock inside me. And he has excellent hip control."

Zeke tilted his head to the side, peering closely at Tris, watching her wide eyes flare further with concern. "It's less fun when she's sunburned." Tris started to push herself up.

"What's your favorite position, Zeke?" Christina asked, pulling Tris back into her seat.

"I'm all about the dog, you know. Nice round ass. Put my hands on her hips and dig in."

"Can she still do it? Like how does that work?" Christina laughed at the motions Zeke was making.

"We use pillows. Sometimes I hold her up over the side of the bed, the table, the couch…"

"I've sat on that couch," Tris groaned.

"Love it when I can make her squirm, beg for it. It's the perfect position for the vibrator. I can get her going and get my face right up on her." He eyed Tris in his periphery, trying to identify the best route towards her total embarrassment. "Oh, but I love it when she's on top! With the light on and her boobs bouncing. Just amazing. She'll hold my arms down, rub all over me. Nothing better than when she's almost got me in tears 'cuz I want her so bad, and then she's suddenly all around me. Oh! She is heaven."

Tris couldn't hunch any further down.

"How 'bout you, Tris? Got some favorites?" Zeke asked, nudging her, giddy for her reaction.

"I have to pee." She bolted away, narrowly slipping from Christina's clamoring hands while they laughed. She took a long path around the camp.

"Tris! Tris!" Ro called out, stumbling away from the light of the fire towards her. "Come on, baby girl. I've got something you need to try."

"Okay." She reluctantly followed, not certain how to take his nickname.

"Alright, drink this." He pushed a leather canteen towards her.

"What is it?"

"It's a home brew that Bud cooked up, got it off of him for a larger mash pot," he assured. "It's delicious."

She eyed him and accepted, smelling before sipping. It smelled like nothing, but it tasted like a million flavors about to burst in her mouth in one confused explosion. She hacked a gulp down and sputtered at the fumes in her breath.

They all laughed. "It's a little strong. But you get used to it. It's even got peace serum in it."

"Oh, I've been on that before," she groaned. "How much is in it?"

"Not a lot. What's it like getting a full dose?"

"Like losing your mind and replacing it with concentrated childishness." She passed on an additional swallow, noting the odd giggles of the group.

"We're playing Dare," one of the many guys Tris didn't know informed her. "Want to play?"

"What are the rules?" she asked, suspicious.

"Just if you don't do a dare, you have to take off a piece of clothing." He shrugged.

"I don't know."

"Come on, Stiff. Live a little," a guy she vaguely recalled from initiation teased.

"Okay, fine." She shrugged, watching and laughing as the boys dared each other to eat pebbles, climb a tree without shoes, jump the fire, and ambush a couple in a nearby tent with a can of water.

She was comfortably amused standing between Ro and the initiate — Jordan, she finally remembered — watching the action and hearing the jokes. She was too small and quiet to draw attention, or so she thought. When Jordan returned, shivering slightly and sopping wet from the lake, he leveled his sights on her.

"So, Tris, I have a dare for you."

She shrank a little. "Okay, what?"

"There's a shortage of ladies on this trip. How about I get a kiss?"

She blushed. "I'm seeing someone."

"Just a kiss from the first-ranking initiate." He stepped forward, perched on his toes with excitement.

She sighed, took a deep breath, and pulled her shirt up over her head, standing in her thin tank top instead.

"Burn…" Christina laughed, joining them, protectively nudging her way between Tris and Jordan.

"Okay, your turn, Tris," Ro said, laughing.

"I'd like to see Wyatt climb a tree." She giggled, looking at the behemoth of a man in comparison to the small-branched scrubs that surrounded them.

"I'm gonna break my ass," he complained, trudging off to try and find something suitable.

"You having fun?" Christina whispered, rubbing her back while they stood and waited. One of them shone a light on Wyatt as he tried to shimmy up the thin trunk of a birch tree. He slid down, cursing, caught a branch and still fell for their amusement.

"Yeah, I am."

Wyatt grumbled his way back to the jeers and challenges that it didn't count since he never got up on a branch.

"Fuck off, I did it," he spat. He eyed the two girls whispering back and forth and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Kristen, right?"

"Christina, asshole." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Christina. I dare you to kiss Tris." The boys whooped, drawing the attention of the other groups, Zeke among those chatting by the fire.

"No problem, you perverts." She pecked Tris quickly on the cheek; they all groaned.

"No, no. A kiss. A real kiss, like you mean it," someone hooted from behind them.

"Fine." Christina squarely faced Tris and whispered, "Ready for a close encounter of the Candor kind?"

Tris laughed, squirmed, and stomped her foot before finally giving in with a nod. At least if she did this, she wouldn't be kissing a guy.

Christina's hand gripped the back of Tris's head, her soft fingers massaging her carefully, a playful smirk on her lips. She leaned in, and Tris could smell the way the liquor had mixed with her breath, the pressure on her neck drawing her closer and closer. Tris closed her eyes and told herself to pretend it was Tobias, like it was one last kiss. Christina's broad lower lip touched between hers and pinched lightly, sending shivers down her back.

Christina's lips parted and Tris followed suit, suddenly eager to press herself deeper into it, connecting with her memories and making them sharp again, despite the differences. Their tongues touched and Tris's hands curled around Christina's shoulder blades. She was breathless, as her friend pulled back and they returned to the reality of the excited circle.

* * *

Zeke's head was spinning from emptying the flask, and his body was ready to collapse from too long of a day in the sun and laughing too far into the morning at the dying fire. Tris was snuggled up under her blanket and most of his, leaving only a little sliver for him.

He was too hot anyways. He didn't even bat an eye before he pulled off his shirt and pants, and slid onto the sliver of mat remaining. At least he was considerate enough to put his head at her feet, thinking it would be best not to creep her out with a mid-night spooning, since he was so used to sleeping with Shauna.

Despite his best efforts, she wiggled and groaned, slowly waking to his subtle shift on the mat. Tris sat up; her eyes immediately landed on his boxers, then crawled up his skin to his eyes. He gave her a bashful grin, apologizing as much as he could without words.

His breath caught in his throat when she reached out and grasped his calf with her cold hand, sliding slowly up his leg to his knee.

"You're coming to bed late." Her voice was gravelly, full of sleep. A little lower and softer than normal.

"There's no alarm clocks here." He tried to shift his leg and pull away from her, but she shuffled closer to him.

"Thanks for bringing me, and being so nice all day." Her hand ran along the inside of his thigh. "I was thinking, if there was a way I could thank you for taking such good care of me."

"Tris, this is inappropriate." He swallowed hard. It had been eight days since he'd last had sex– a dry spell in his recent experience. But there was excitement in having someone new touch him, especially Tris, and he was reluctant to pull back. Four was his friend, his brother, but what he didn't know… He lost his entire train of thought when her hands plucked his erection out of his boxers and he felt her warm lips start down his shaft.

Zeke nearly screamed when his hand slipped down to find something sliding over his penis that wasn't a girl, but the writhing body of a snake. He grabbed it and threw it to the corner of the tent, propelling himself out into the obnoxiously bright sun of midday. Tris and Christina were sitting on the haphazard bench, suppressing their giggles, Tris averting her eyes from his still-erect penis bulging in his shorts.

"Need an audience?" Christina laughed.

"Snake… There is a snake," he panted, peeking back into the tent.

"So it seems." Tris rolled her eyes, peeking between her fingers.

"So?" Christina pulled the flap open to investigate, and Zeke jumped back. "Snakes? Really? You're afraid of snakes?"

"Unnatural, cold, slimy… ugh!" He danced a little, shaking his hands.

Christina ducked in, found the little brown garter in the corner and snagged it. "Watch out, it's poisonous!" she taunted, letting it wriggle from her grasp and shoving it towards him.

"Fuck you, get rid of it!" Zeke yelled, a few more members laughing and glancing his way.

Christina tossed it into the bushes and looked at him with a shrug. He stared back, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other.

"What are you looking at?" Christina barked.

"Can you check if there's more?"

* * *

**Your heartfelt anguish, praise, displeasure, and all grievances can be placed in the comment box below, or into the PM system. **


	27. CH27: Revelations

**Lots of hands clammered all over this one to get it to where it is. So thanks to Milner, BK2U, and little queen b, B-Dauntless herself. For the candid feedback and conversations. Followed by the intensive edits.**

* * *

With three laps completed, Four found Zeke leaning against the office, picking at his nails as he waited for him. He broke into a laugh as Four trekked into the office covered in dust to check in.

"Holy Hell, you have a mohawk." Zeke bent him over roughly, giving him a hard-knuckled noogie, the brown dust wearing into his uniform.

"Yeah, yeah." Four shoved him off. "It's just a haircut."

"Uh-huh. And your lip?" Zeke pushed, glad to see him smile when he teased him. "So, how many laps is that?"

"Three," he confirmed. "I get a wall day tomorrow. When did you get here?"

"Four days ago, must have just missed you. I was gonna arrange an attack on Harrison if you didn't show up today. Started to think he had you killed."

Four trudged into the barracks, sought out an empty space and dropped his bag, sinking onto the cot. It was hard to focus on unpacking his stuff with Zeke's hand constantly rubbing his head, releasing sand and dirt into his eyes.

"Will you knock it off?"

"I love how it feels when it's just starting to grow out," Zeke explained with a shrug.

"So cut your own damn hair."

"Your hair's different."

Zeke was energized; having his best friend at the wall had never happened before, and four days of stalking the office for the fence walkers had done nothing to decrease his excitement. "Dinner?"

Four was too tired and too hot to stuff his face fork-for-fork with Zeke. Instead, he tried to pick out the beef from the over-salted noodles, and kept his face from contorting in disgust as Zeke slurped huge mouthfuls without hesitation.

"What's the matter, not up to your standards?" Zeke teased.

"Little heavy on the salt back there."

Zeke raised an eyebrow and plucked a noodle off of Four's plate. "Nope, you're just getting special treatment. Usually, it's bland as shit," he snickered. Four shoved his plate away with a growl.

"So, Tris," Zeke started, watching Four closely.

"I don't care. Fuck her," he spat, crossing his arms.

"Dude, she asked me to explain—"

"Nothing to explain. I'm done wasting time on her. Did she quit or am I gonna have to?"

"Whoa there. First, no one's quitting. Second, she didn't mean what she said on the train."

"The hell she didn't."

"She's been coming off the pills and it's got her all fucked up." Four rolled his eyes. "Seriously, she's going through withdrawal. They had her on some hardcore shit. She's been a bitch to most everyone. Kind of reminds me of someone else I know." Four tightened his grip on his forearms, and started looking for an exit. "She hasn't been able to make much progress because of it. She gets these headaches that last for days. She's obviously not sleeping enough, not eating enough."

Four was losing his patience. "Seems she's got an excuse for everything."

"Sometimes an excuse is actually a reason." Four chewed the inside of his lip, playing with the ring with the tip of his tongue.

"So? You heard her. She's done with me."

"That's the thing, she isn't. She didn't mean what she said. People say stupid shit all the time when they're mad, and the outbursts like that are a side effect of the withdrawal. It was just bad timing."

"Well, she wasn't wrong. I'm violent. I'm a killer, a murderer. I would have killed that guy if you weren't there. Why would a girl like her want to be with a monster like me? She did the right thing."

"You didn't kill him. And we've all had to kill people, it doesn't make us monsters. We're soldiers and we had a war. It's what happens. It sucks, but it's what happens."

Four locked onto Zeke's gaze. "Zeke, I've hurt people, killed some. Even after the war."

"Oh." Zeke blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. "In Milwaukee?" Four picked at his noodles, lining them up side by side. "Is that why you don't talk about it?"

"There's a lot of reasons," he sighed.

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

"No."

"Okay. But, maybe you should."

Zeke let him sit for a minute while he reflected on his friend in front of him. Four was someone he knew to be compassionate, kind, logical, and always willing to put all the blame on himself. It was hard to imagine him killing someone without a reason.

"So, Tris," Zeke turned back to the conversation.

"Tris made the right decision at the Bureau. I shouldn't have interfered when I got back."

Zeke sighed, pulled out a white folded paper and slid it across the table. "She wrote you a note. It got a little wrinkled, but I didn't read it or anything." Four looked at it like touching it would set him on fire. "Take it. Read it." Four swiped it off the surface and slid it into his pocket.

"So, the Pedrad melodrama?" he prompted, looking for any way to get off the topic of Tris. Zeke placated him, enumerating the two weeks of activities among his extended relations all the way back to the bunks. Zeke stepped into the bathroom, and Four wrestled back and forth with his compulsion to pull out the note. He told himself that he wouldn't read it, that he already knew all he needed to know. That he'd been feeling less and less about the whole situation, which was a good thing. But then it was in his hands, being unfolded.

If she was to be believed, he'd already done things that she'd find unforgivable. If she was just regretting speaking her mind, did he care that she apologized, or that her meds made her moody? But with Zeke backing up her claims, he had a sinking feeling square in his chest.

He didn't notice Zeke until he'd folded the note back up. "So?"

"Does she mean it?" Four asked, holding up the square, "Or does she just feel guilty about saying what she really thinks on the train?"

"She means it. If I had to swear it on truth serum, she means it." Zeke nodded.

"Shit." Four slid the note into his pocket and half-stumbled to his cot, rolling onto the mattress.

"She's been put on restrictions. She's on the 104 protocol – no sims per some Candor named Melissa. Harrison's pissed about the loyalty check, but Fiona is giving her an extension. Shouldn't take long until she's all clean, and then even Harrison can't be a prick to you two."

Four nodded, taking it in, though he couldn't quite remember the 104 protocol. It wasn't one they used often, and he needed to know more. "So, she's an addict?"

"I don't think so. Well, I guess she might be. But Christina's still staying with her, keeping an eye on her. She says it's more the nightmares than the pills causing most of the problems." That Four understood all too well, but apparently 104 wasn't about addiction. "But, she did come camping with us and she had a great time. So maybe she's turning a corner, making friends and falling into the Dauntless life."

"Camping? Really?" Four couldn't picture her out trudging through mud given the amount of paper and books she seemed to enjoy.

"Yeah. Her and Christina, a couple other girls, and about ten of us guys. We went outside the fence up to that lake, it was a blast. Swimming, and hiking, and Bud's liquor."

"Swimming? She can swim?" Four looked at him, amused.

"No, more like flailing. But it was pretty shallow."

"And she's making friends?" Zeke nodded while Four kept his eyes on his rough cuticles. "With other guys?"

"Look, I told her you would be reasonable. That you'd understand, talk to her when you came back, at least." Zeke nudged him. Four's apprehension tightened his chest, his mouth hanging open at the sudden pain. "You are still interested, right? Cuz there are a ton of guys that wouldn't mind—"

"Keep them away from her," Four leveled at him. Zeke cracked a smile and shrugged.

"Good, I'd hate a girl like her to be passing up some good lays for someone that wasn't interested."

"Uh-huh..." He swallowed hard.

"This is good. Things will be okay." Zeke smiled at him, nudging him again and taking a swipe at his head. Four felt sick. "Why do you look like you just broke a tooth?"

"I, um..." Four didn't know how to articulate his actions. Unable to stay lying down, he sat next to Zeke on the edge.

"What did you do?" Zeke's mouth opened.

"I thought we were done. I… well, she said…" He rubbed his face. "You heard her."

"What the fuck did you do?" Four just closed his eyes and sighed. "No. You don't do that," Zeke gaped. "You don't fuck around, you don't even look at girls. You're like a fucking robot."

"Wish I was," Four lamented.

"How many? One? Two? You bed this entire place?" The edge in Zeke's voice sawed into him.

"I just fooled around, okay? Just a couple times with the girls I was patrolling with on the first lap," he defended.

"Fooled around? What do you mean by that?" Four shrugged. "No, don't pansy out on me now. You fucked them?"

"No. Not really," Four glowered. "And fuck you. Like you would have done different. She split with me. Am I supposed to just phone it in for the rest of my life? Do I have to give up sex forever on the off chance that she comes back?"

"Shauna kicked me out, you don't see me hopping beds. You haven't even talked to her about it."

"You were on that train. Did I miss something?" Four challenged. "Did I miss an 'I love you' or a 'hurry back' or anything?" Zeke didn't have a retort. "I'm not apologizing for having a little fun."

"Gah, I don't know. I mean, you're sorta right. She didn't leave much room."

"So… what do I do?" Four asked.

"You tell her the truth and you hope for the best." Zeke shrugged. "And then you hope Christina doesn't stab you in your sleep."

"It's not really any of her business. I'll sit down, again, and let her apologize, again. And then I'm done. I'm out."

"No, you're going to talk to her. You're going to realize that she's made a mistake, and you're going to forgive her." Four scoffed. "And, you're gonna tell her about the girls, or I will."

Four nodded. "So that's how it is? On her side?"

"There's no side. It's the right thing to do." Zeke waited for confirmation. "So am I gonna have to?"

"No. I'll tell her, if we get that far." He sighed, grabbed his pack and fished out his dirty laundry, stepping away to think.

Four came back from running circles around the facility to find the lights in the barracks already off, and outside of a few hushed sounds of sex, soft breathing and rippling snores were all he could hear. Eventually, the few moans were smothered by sleep, and he counted the snores until he succumbed himself.

"So, what happened to your face?" Zeke smirked, scooping some of his eggs onto Four's plate.

"Lost a bet." Four wiped his mouth with his napkin, self-conscious, and separated his salty mess away from Zeke's offering.

Zeke chuckled. "Some bet."

"Dumb bet. Like a really, really dumb bet."

"And your ear? Shit, that had to hurt." Four shrugged, not wanting to admit the aching he'd barely gotten over. "Tris is gonna love that. "

"Shut up. They're coming out when I get out of here."

"Nah, you should keep them. You finally look a little Dauntless. You gotta keep the cut, too. Chicks love how the fuzz feels between their thighs."

Zeke wasn't disappointed in the redness that crept across Four's cheekbones and into his ears. Four just took a deep breath and measured it out.

They let their conversation subside while Four fished out the last remaining edible bits of his breakfast, then followed Zeke back to the bunkhouse to get ready for a day at the top of the wall. He kept his arms crossed, not sure how to start reciprocating the kindness Zeke had been showing him.

"You know, I'm sorry about Shauna kicking you out. What happened? Or, you don't have to say." He didn't like to be intrusive, but the last few years had taught him that Zeke wouldn't force his problems on anyone, not without an invitation.

"It's temporary. It got a little rough between us and she gave me the boot. Typical. She'll get over it. She always gets over it."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, just that time of the month or something," Zeke griped, threading his knife holder onto his belt.

"You okay?"

"Never been happier to get up here, get away from my empty apartment," he huffed.

"Well, you know, maybe it's just things getting back to normal. She used to kick your ass and cut things off every other week over something," Four offered.

"Yeah, exactly." Zeke smiled and laughed. "When my girl feels better, she shows it by picking a fight over socks."

"Socks? Seriously?"

"Socks in the living room. Well, sort of." Zeke pulled out his knife, trying to look casual as he examined the blade. "So, first, I swear nothing happened," he began, and Four shifted, crossing his arms as Zeke tightened his grip and swallowed. "Tris had to sleep in my tent when we went camping."

"What?" Four almost shouted, his fists balling up.

"Christina and Derrick were getting it on in their tent, so we moved her stuff to mine. It was better than letting the other guys offer up a spot with them," Zeke defended.

"Seriously?"

"She slept on her mat, I slept on mine. But Shauna was pissed about the rumors and that I was spending so much time with her training."

"I can't imagine why," Four gritted through his teeth, staring hard.

"Nothing happened," Zeke emphasized, only relaxing his grip on the knife when Four nodded slightly and let his arms drop. "You have nothing to worry about, she turned all the guys down. Now the girls, that was a different story."

"Excuse me?" Four straightened again.

"She and Christina had an epic kiss. Like wow." Four stared back at him, a little dumbfounded. "Best game of Dare in a long time."

"She kissed Christina?" Four let the image flit through his head, chasing out his confused, flustered anger.

"Bitches be crazy," Zeke shrugged, flopping back onto the bunk and twirling the knife in his hand, getting distracted. "Well, since I'm up here and technically single…" His eyes followed a girl's ass as she walked past.

"Really?" Four questioned if Zeke would feel the same way knowing who it was that strutted by, or if he was just that desperate.

"Gah! No, I couldn't. I'll just wait her out, like old times." He paused, then rolled onto his side. "Obviously, you've been tempted."

"It's been... educational." He blushed.

"Educational? Lauren was crazy in bed. Next time you give it to Tris, you should try some of those things out."

"Yeah, mm-hmm," he grumbled, heading to the water fountain to fill his canteen.

He was bored just a few hours in, the only sounds the shuffling of feet, an occasional conversation, and a sneeze here and there. None of it was enough to drown out the back and forth in his head about Tris. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but Amar's warning weeks before felt like he'd be getting a big 'I told you so' when he got back. It made him even less eager to sit down and hear her out. Even worse, she'd never understand why he did what he did with the girls; she was too Abnegation to forgive him that indiscretion.

He shuffled over, meandering between people as they edged down, filling his slot until he was standing next to Zeke.

"So, what's your plan with Shauna?"

"Just wait. I mean it takes a couple of weeks, right? Then she'll be back cuddling up to me."

"You aren't going to try and fix it?"

"What? All my socks landed in the box she packed for me. There's nothing to pick up."

"No, like, show her you're serious."

"We've been together for almost two years. That is serious." Zeke rolled his eyes.

"And you're still on and then off and then on and then off..."

"It's just us, okay?"

"I mean, that's fine. It's cool if you want to let her slip away. Find someone new, get married, have kids. How did that go?"

"Fuck off. That's you, not me."

"Just saying…"

Zeke stared at the Amity trucks coming and going below them. "I think she thinks I'm only with her because she's in the chair."

"Are you?"

"No, you know that," he snapped.

"Okay, then prove to her that you're not."

"What? Like punch out her exes?" Zeke taunted with a smile.

"I don't know. I mean, if she thinks it's about pity, make it about something else." Zeke cocked an eyebrow and smirked; Four rolled his eyes. "How often does she have to ask you to do something for her?"

"Never, I take care of her. In every way," Zeke declared with pride.

"Seems simple, stop doing everything." Zeke let out a disagreeing noise. "Just keep going around and spending time with her, but don't do anything for her unless she actually asks you to."

"Are you kidding me? She can't even reach the plates." Zeke looked at him like he'd said to stop eating.

"If she wants you to, you can move the plates lower for her. But don't give her one unless she asks. You want her to know it's not about the chair? Then make it about being with her and not about doing things for her. You know, be her friend. Show her you're there for her, with or without. And flowers. Lauren always says flowers."

"When did you start getting all wise and shit?" Zeke kicked his boot.

"Mark it on the calendar," Four smirked.

The bell rang out below, the next shift starting their climb up the ladders. Four dreaded the dinner line; certain he'd get another plate of salt. With the little sleep he'd been getting, he passed on the soccer game with the group going through PT drills on the field, and contemplated going to bed before the barracks filled up. Zeke dragged him to dinner anyways, cajoling him into soccer afterwards. By the time he was back in the barracks, he just wanted a shower and to sleep.

He grabbed a towel out of his laundry sack and started pulling at his shoelaces.

"What are you doing?"

"Showering and sleeping," he grumbled. "I gotta walk tomorrow."

"Julia is here and so is Ruby. You should wait right here," Zeke grinned.

"I'm not interested. Been there already." He ground his fists into his eyes, then glared back at him, adding pointedly, "And neither are you, remember?"

"Oh, you're interested. Looky, no touchy." He wiggled his fingers before weaving them together.

"Oh, God. It's creepy the way people do that here. It's awkward how people sit and watch."

"I'm not a fan when there's, like, more than one guy involved, or only guys, but when these two go at it — I mean, you've seen two ladies, together… but these two, they really try."

"And I'm good," Four assured. Zeke started getting excited, seeing the discomfort on Four's face.

"Oh, I bet that little mistake fueled your spank bank for a couple showers. But this? This will fill it up for months." Zeke stretched out and folded his hands on his stomach. "Just sit tight, it's worth it. Where else do you get to see naked girls without having to take them to dinner?"

Before coming to the wall, Four thought the stories he'd heard in the locker room were exaggerated, but the fence was like a breeding compound. Something about the boredom, the lack of alcohol, and the close quarters turned even the most discreet members into bunk-hopping whores as if no one was watching, listening, or getting off to their escapades. He believed these things should be done behind closed doors, establishing at least some semblance of privacy. And up until Zeke's recommendation, he'd casually removed himself for a run the few nights he'd been at the barracks. But he'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a little curious. Zeke's insistence was enough for him to agree to stay, at least until they got started. He planned to sneak out when things got weird and Zeke was distracted.

It wasn't long before a loud whoop went up around the bunkhouse and Zeke sprang up to sit on the edge of the bed. Four slid to the edge, too, keeping Zeke in his peripheral vision, ready to slip away. But Zeke was excitedly staring at him.

Ruby was an unremarkable Dauntless girl: muscular, strong, with tattooed sleeves up both arms and rings in her nose and ears. Her brunette hair was cut asymmetrically at chin length and her skin was pale white. Julia was her exact opposite: strong, slightly masculine with minimal tattoos. She had designs cut into her short hair so it looked like a lizard was hugging her scalp, and her skin was a deep umber with a slight copper shimmer where she was already wet with sweat. Neither were exactly Four's type, but as he fought the instinct to look away, he couldn't help but become interested, losing track of Zeke's attention.

They were slow and gentle with each other, tentative in how they kissed. Ruby submissively pecked at Julia's lips between whispered requests while gently caressing her body. The task of removing all of the clothing fell to Ruby in a wordless delegation while Julia looked at her, skeptical and disapproving of something she said. Once Ruby was naked in front of her, Julia attacked, applying aggressive motions that made Ruby shriek and giggle as she landed on her back. Julia slowed, inching her hands down Ruby's thighs, her hands transforming into gentle extensions that more tickled than pressed. He couldn't quite process the playfulness of Julia's teasing in contrast with the aggressive approach.

Four had a vague awareness of the men in the room who were more or less open about their own pleasure. Their lack of inhibition increased his discomfort and reminded him about his plan to leave. Thankfully, Zeke was keeping his hands clasped in front of him while he eagerly watched.

Four glanced back at the girls. His thoughts overwhelmed him, and any notion of walking out sank under the tide of his hormones. His own urge to touch became an irritating, almost painful pressure when Julia's kisses down Ruby's thigh didn't stop. Doing that, in public, couldn't be acceptable. The whole display struck him as pure provocation and show: a deviant act specifically for the men in the room. Ruby let out a series of pants that grew into a gasping and impatient moan, making her twitch her hips with a few begging directions to Julia. Suddenly, he understood what had been difficult to see in the low light of the outposts: Ruby was transfixed with overpowering pleasure from the small, light movements. His focus steadied, eager to learn how to make a girl whimper for more.

Ruby was glancing around the room, moaning, arching, pinching her breasts as her hips wiggled. She caught the intense look on Four's face, and the way his eyes were locked on her hips. Julia paused at the tap on the top of her head.

"Yes, baby?" she smiled, fingers still moving, slipping in and out in a rhythmic motion, giving Four the chance to examine her technique.

"What about Four?" she asked, pointing in his general direction. His focus was shattered as he sat up in surprise, cursing himself for not sticking to his plan.

Julia sat up with a sigh. "Why a boy at all?"

"Please? I just need a cock. It's been months, and he's never been up here."

Julia stepped off the bed, her hand slick and her face moist. Four slid back on his bed, but she kept coming.

"Whoa, Julia," Zeke laughed, shifting a little between them. "He's staying faithful."

Julia arched an eyebrow. "What do you say, Four? I promise she'll be gentle."

"She'll have to settle for someone else." Zeke rolled his eyes and Four glanced between the two, not sure what to say.

"Four," Ruby whined. She rolled onto her side, gaining his full attention as she squirmed. "Come on, Four. Just a poke. I'll even let you come inside me."

"No, she won't," Julia directed at Ruby harshly.

The bunkhouse exploded with noise, and all he could do was shake his head and stay slightly hidden behind Zeke. He barely managed to make eye contact with Ruby as he considered, his face heating up under the scrutiny of all the members staring back at him.

His resolve weakened then resurged, the public nature taking it too far for him to agree. In the time it took for him to hesitate, the taunting died out and everyone quietly awaited his reply.

"Like Zeke said, staying faithful." He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes, feeling dishonest in his statement. He heard taunting calls behind him and a surprising number of disappointed female voices. He slid off the mattress and quickly ducked behind the crowd and towards the door. Julia rolled her eyes, returning to Ruby, who pouted and argued for the inclusion of a different man.

Four stood just outside the room. He relaxed with a sigh and chuckled at the ridiculousness of the bunkhouse as he heard the two girls continue to argue, occasionally insulting each other's picks to the delight of the crowd. Part of him was curious what two girls would do with one guy; it didn't seem like there was any way he could last long enough to please both of them. The taunts rose again and died out quickly as someone more willing than himself must have been selected.

Four was alone in the showers where his thoughts uncontrollably focused on Tris and his memories of the couch: her soft skin; the gentle touches that had spread out over his back and snuck down to his hips; the way her lips felt on his, at first tense with shock and then reassuring and demanding all at once. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her thighs, to slowly make his way down them to leave her panting and writhing in his wake; it brought him up and over the edge quickly. He basked in his thoughts for a moment, leaning against the wall of the shower under the spray until the reality of what had transpired between them settled in, crushing the air out of his chest with regret and loss. He shut off the water, taking a moment to let his thoughts subside, thinking instead about the granules of sand that speckled the grout. He let his breathing return to normal and cursed, realizing he forgot a towel.

* * *

**At the time of posting, my story stats aren't working so I literally will have no idea how many folks read this. So please, leave a review and let me know you're out there and what you think. Thanks to all the follows and favorites in the last month (and the last 9 months), I don't know where you came from, but I appreciate you reading.**


	28. Ch28: Tunnel Vision

**Acknowledgements: Beta: Milner and Edits: BK2U; Thanks everyone for the reviews on the last chapter! Really let me rest easy that folks were able to read it even though parts of the FFN system weren't working. I really appreciate all your support.**

* * *

Zeke knocked on Shauna's door, even pressing his ear against it to hear if she was on the other side, but she didn't answer. He thought about the key in his pocket; she never asked for it back, and he never thought of giving it. But she had, in no uncertain terms, turned him out with a box of his stuff. He took the stairs up to her parents' apartment, hoping one of them was home and awake. They both worked in patrol and he wasn't certain what shifts they were on.

He nervously waited, the folded bit of paper in his hand getting crumpled by his twitching fingers. Her dad opened the door.

"Zeke, back from the fence?" he asked, looking kindly on him, but with a pity that was unmistakable.

"Yeah. I got in just after noon. I noticed Shauna wasn't at work or in her apartment…"

"Oh, she went to the Bureau. There was an opening on a bus last week." He paused, "Sorry, Zeke. I don't know what's with her lately, but her mom went with her instead. She might be back in a week or two, depending."

"Yeah, okay. Any chance you might hear from her while she's up there?"

"Probably not, but if I do, I'll let her know you stopped by."

"Thanks." Zeke shoved his hands in his back pockets. He was supposed to be with her. He was supposed to be getting her ice chips in the middle of the night and calling for the nurse when the pain got too bad. He was supposed to be there to learn the therapy she needed and to help her do it when she got back.

He found his way down to the dining hall, grabbing a turkey sandwich and an apple, even though his appetite was gone. He carried both to the training room, taking up a seat on one of the small benches against the wall to watch the soccer game that was darting over the open space. He slowly consumed his lunch, mulling over whether he should read more into Shauna's departure than a scheduling convenience. Realistically, with how she left things, she wasn't going to let him go with her anyways.

He heard a squeal and an uproar of laughter from the doorway to the smaller room and saw Christina dangling over Derrick's shoulder, Tris following with her arms crossed at a much slower, begrudging pace.

They were early. He tossed his trash out and wiped his hands on his pants, observing Derrick and Christina removing their shoes to step up on the grappling mat. Tris wandered over to the bar area, took a hop and hung there, letting gravity stretch out her back.

"You're doing better." Zeke smiled, watching her chin hit the bar on her first, slow struggle upward.

"Mmm-hmm." Tris groaned as she strained for a second touch; he gripped her hips and gave her a light boost until she counted five and let go.

"So, did you see him?" She bit her lip and examined the calluses forming on her palm.

"Barely. They aren't giving him much down time between cycles."

"Is he okay?"

"He seemed exhausted. Ready to come back." Then he snickered, "Got a few holes put in him, new haircut. He finally looks Dauntless."

Tris crinkled her nose, "Really? He wouldn't."

"Nope, he wouldn't, but he lost a bet or two. Gave him a hard time about it. Can't wait to give him shit again when he gets back."

"Oh, don't do that to him." She laughed, "I'm sure they're being unbearable up there."

"You have no idea. The drill instructor comes on our turf, it ain't gonna be pretty."

"What did you guys do to him?"

"Oh, the usual. Extra salt on his food. Wet pillow. Water in his boots. Toilet water on his toothbrush. Someone took all his socks out of his pack, so I bet he's really happy right now."

"Children." She rolled her eyes.

"That's the guys. The girls, however." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Just a mild education in the sexually explicit." Zeke laughed, before seeing Tris's face drop; he started to backpedal. "Not like that. Well, not much anyways. Some folks are exhibitionists. They get a little carried away. Believe me, what he saw up there, it can only be good for you."

Tris blushed and quickly dodged away, wiping her hands on her pants and making a beeline for the drinking fountain.

"What'd you say?" Christina asked, toweling sweat off her neck, Derrick's hand clutching her hip.

"Nothing, just that Four's learning a lot out there."

"What do you mean?" She narrowed her gaze.

"Just, like, it gets a little wild and if he keeps his eyes open, she should be one happy girl when he gets back." Zeke assured.

"Oh my God, look at her. She looks scandalized." Christina burst into a fit of laughter. "So what's he been seeing?"

"Two girls. Very special girls." He grinned.

"Julia?" Derrick asked.

"And Ruby."

"Sweet." Derrick nodded, Christina smacked him in the gut. "Oh, you'd love it."

"So Four's, like, not pissed at her?"

"Well, he's not overly pissed." Zeke shrugged, "But what's worse is he thinks she's right. He's just rolled over and accepted it, like he's not good enough for her. Said he did things in Milwaukee that prove her point."

"No, that can't be… he said it was boring. All his letters were about this strike they were having and how it was cold and miserable, but boring."

Zeke rolled his eyes, "Yeah, cuz that guy wouldn't lie in a letter."

"Well, that's just rude." Christina glowered, "But he's going to talk to her, right? He's not giving up on her?"

"Yeah, he'll talk to her. He seems convinced it's over, and... you probably should be prepared for it all to blow up when he gets back. It'll be hard on her."

"What the hell does that mean?" Zeke shrugged in response, regretting having said anything. "What, is he fucking someone else already?"

"That's not what I said." Zeke's reproachful tone did little to calm Christina, "I'm just saying, he's got no reason not to."

Christina pointed at Tris, who was grinding her fingers into her temple, concentrating on the sudden shooting pain resonating behind her eyes, "She is a thousand reasons."

Zeke sighed. "And yet she's the one that basically told him not to bother."

Christina watched Tris crouch down, and sit on the floor, taking deep breaths through the pain then looking up a little relieved. "Maybe they're better apart. At least for a little while. Look at her, she's still struggling."

"Maybe. But she's almost there. Just a few weeks and she'll be off the last of the meds, right? And this 104 business can be reevaluated."

"And she will still have shit to deal with." Christina insisted.

"I know. Maybe you're right, Chris. He shouldn't be getting jerked around like this. Maybe they should cool it while she gets her act together."

"He almost killed a guy! He needs to get his shit together, too." Christina challenged.

"His shit is just fine where it is. He did the right thing. She should be thrilled she has him on her side."

"She has every right to be freaked out by that. You can't just beat people to a pulp." She crossed her arms and stood tall, stern-faced.

Zeke stretched his neck: arguing with a Candor wasn't appealing, "Anyways, Tris wants Four in her life, and if he wants her in his, then that's what we should be pushing for."

"Whatever. Tris doesn't know what's good for her. She needs to get back on her own two feet before she tries to chase him down."

Christina dodged Zeke's challenging eyes, took Derrick's hand and pulled him away.

* * *

Zeke had claimed the couch in Christina's new apartment and laid himself out, drunk after finding a mystery bottle on a shelf above the refrigerator. Tris sat on the edge of the sofa and sorted through the last occupant's photos from a box under the coffee table, taking a sip every now and then of what little remained. She ignored how Zeke's hand kept wandering to her leg. He was, after all, asleep. And the occasional warmth wasn't unpleasant. She tucked his arm back against his chest and turned back to the photos.

Whoever Rooster was, he had friends, parents, and an interesting obsession with photos of sleeping girls, one of which looked familiar. Tris pulled the photo out from the stack and was peering at it when her suspect knocked on the door frame.

"You leave for a few months and they give all the good apartments away." Lauren announced herself. She was glowing with a soft tan and a new, short bob, her clothing faded reds and yellows instead of black.

Tris looked back and forth between the photo and Lauren, confirming her suspicions. "Hey, Lauren." She smiled, waving her in. "Did you know this guy? I found some photos, I don't know if he has family left or something…"

"Oh, Rooster? He was an ass." She took the photo from Tris, her mouth dropping open. "An even bigger asshole than I thought." She tucked it into her back pocket.

"Hey." Christina stood straighter, swallowed a little. To her, Lauren was still the other instructor during initiation.

"Hi, Christina." She smiled politely. "I came to see where my little buddy over there was." She pointed at Zeke who was barely cracking an eye, but seemed to be awake.

"He found a bottle." Tris pushed his hand back to his chest, again.

Tris noticed Rafael for the first time, tentative behind Lauren, as he avoided eye contact with Christina. He was still wearing the same hair as the train, his clothes a mix of torn black pants and a red shirt.

"You look like a traitor," Zeke slurred when Lauren pulled on his boot to wake him up.

"Takes one to know one. Where's the bottle? It's time to share." Lauren jerked on his leg harder, "And where is your girl? She wasn't home."

"She kicked me out. Left for the Bureau when I was on the fence." He groaned.

Tris didn't know that, he hadn't mentioned anything about it. She suddenly wondered if that was why he drank the bottle by himself, why he'd been in the training room every day with her. Why he'd been around so much for the last week, since he got back.

"Again? What did you do this time?" Lauren folded her arms.

"She's being stupid. Believing the rumor mill," he murmured. Lauren shot Tris an inquisitive look, then raised a suspicious eyebrow at seeing Zeke's hand sliding back out against her thigh. Tris hastily pushed it back.

"What? He didn't mention anything to me." She shrugged.

Lauren's accusing glance lingered when she sat down next to Tris, poking Zeke in the side and pulling him up into a sitting position. "God, you're drunk. It's only five o'clock." She sighed, watching his jittery eyes try to track around the room. She smacked his cheek a few times.

"I've missed you, you know. It's just not the same without your whining." He smiled, eyes closing slowly.

"So, I guess that means you're not supplying the booze for my welcome back bash?"

He shrugged, "Why not. We just have to find some, cuz I drank all of mine."

"I'm sure you did." She let him fall back on the couch. "Where is Four? Working?" Tris didn't miss the judgment in her glance, lips pursed and eyebrows skeptical.

"The fence." Tris put her eyes back on the photos.

"What? He doesn't work the fence." Lauren balked.

"It's not work, it's punishment." Christina filled her in, finally breaking her rigid stance and pushing a box of clothes into line with the others.

"What he do this time?"

"He —" Tris started, but Christina finished.

"Some Bureau guy pissed him off, got a mouthful of fist. It's political bullshit."

"Bureau? What do they have to do with Four?"

"Nothing." Christina shrugged, "He'll be back tomorrow, maybe the next day, depends on how they count."

Tris kept her eyes on the photos, although she wasn't really seeing them anymore.

"Well, good. Come by my place tonight after dinner, and make sure that one brings booze. Then we can do it again when Four gets back." Lauren poked a few more times at Zeke, until he batted her away. As she turned to leave, her hand landed on Rafael's back, affectionate and soft. Christina puckered her mouth and stomped back to her bedroom.

* * *

When Zeke finally sobered up, cranky and with a pounding head, Christina pestered him into helping them secure a bottle of liquor. Tris eyed her, nervous at her insistence that she wasn't bothered about Rafael, and suspicious that the only reason Derrick had been invited was some ploy at jealousy. Things had been cooling off between them, and while Derrick was obviously interested, Christina had been less enthusiastic.

Lauren's apartment wasn't any bigger than Four's, but she had more stuff and more people there than was comfortable. Tris tried to slip between all the arms, often getting bashed with elbows in the claustrophobic space. The heels Christina tried to force on her suddenly made more sense: if she could get a couple of inches, she might be able to pick a route over their shoulders.

The first grope felt like an accident, just someone whose hand happened to collide with her butt. But the second was clearly on purpose, a toothy grin accompanying it. Tris shrank for a second, ducked her head, and felt the embarrassment clawing over her face, the word 'sorry' on the tip of her tongue. He put his hand on her butt again with a drunken squeeze that broke loose a flood of anger.

"Get your hands off me!" She shouted, using her entire body to ram an elbow into his stomach. His face twitched into smug disgust.

"It's a compliment, you bitch."

"A compliment comes with words. It's disgusting, asshole."

Zeke and Christina exchanged a nervous glance before Christina prodded Tris to move on through the crowd.

"I've never heard you use that word." Christina smiled, Tris was still too hot to do anything but scowl.

"Get your chick under control." He snorted at Zeke.

"She ain't my chick, and she isn't property, so I suggest you ask before you take." Zeke rolled his eyes as he passed.

Lauren squealed, seeing Zeke awake and alert, hugging him properly before dragging him closer to the small radio.

"Dance with me," she commanded, flicking the knob until the sound came blasting through. Zeke relented, setting aside his mood, making a show out of it when he recognized the lyrics. His hands stretched out and his body synchronized with the song. Lauren backed up into him until their hips were rolling together.

Watching their close contact made Tris uncomfortable; she turned away to find something else to entertain her. She found the jugs on the counter and tried to decide between the brown, the clear, or the soft pink cloudy bottles.

Ro slid up to her with a smile. "Tris, baby girl. Looks like that sunburn's all healed up."

"Yeah."

"What kind of drink do you want? Strong, stronger, or strongest?" He labeled, tapping in front of the bottles.

"Just strong, I guess."

"Okay, this one you do as a shot, all at once." He rinsed a couple shot glasses quickly in the sink before pouring the light pink liquid.

"All at once?"

"Yeah, so you don't taste it until it's down."

"How bad does it taste?" She smelled it.

"Come on, Tris, trust me. All at once." He clinked his glass with hers and started to bring it up to his lips, encouraging her to do the same.

It tasted as bad as burning tires smelled. The fumes engulfed her nasal cavity, burning her nose and blocking her breath. Watching Ro also hack and cough relieved her embarrassment, but didn't keep her from laughing with him.

"That's horrible. Why would anyone ever drink that?"

"That's Bud's un-aged fruit cocktail." Ro sputtered, "But this batch is sort of worse than usual."

The warmth in her stomach expanded to her cheeks, the hot room crowding in on her as she overheated. Ro introduced her around the room to different people, including her in conversations and bringing her up to speed on backgrounds and stories. He even saved her from more than one flirt by slinging his arm around her shoulder. She felt emboldened by his attention and empowered by how he introduced her as someone worth knowing. He poured her another shot an hour or so later, then dragged her back to the corner where Zeke was still commanding the impromptu dance floor, now covered in sweat and slipping towards his earlier drunken state.

"Dance with me." Ro asked, taking her hand and pulling her out.

"I don't know how." She giggled, hoping no one was watching as she stood motionless in front of him.

"Oh, well. I'll show you. It starts in the hips; when you hear the beat of the drum you move." He put one hand on her hip and pushed her side to side, moving in a little closer. His other hand landed briefly on the small of her back, then directed her arms up onto his shoulders. "Then you move your feet, shuffle 'em." She looked down between them, watching his small steps side to side. "And don't forget your knees, bend them a little, just bounce." She felt his chin bump into her forehead a few times.

His whiskers tickled her ear when he leaned forward to quietly remind and encourage her. She lost the beat, burst into laughter and let go of him. Ro kept his hands loosely on her lower back, corralling her from getting too far away. Her hand came down on his chest, and she leaned against his arms.

"Hey, Ro." Zeke caught his attention and shook his head in warning.

"Come on, Zeke. She's having fun." Ro complained.

"Now's not the time. Maybe a bit down the road."

Ro dropped his hands to his side, debating about testing Zeke's resolve. Tris was still laughing, looking at her feet as she tried to find the beat again.

"Zeke, Zeke." She called, "I'm dancing."

"You're drunk." He smiled, taking Ro's place in her attention and separating them at the same time. "Show me this thing you call dancing."

"No. Teach me to dance like you do!" She smiled.

"Like I do?"

"Yeah, with all the rubbing and stuff." She twisted around and backed up into him.

Zeke put his arm around her stomach, latching her to him. His lips right next to her ear, she could hear his breathing increase, the swallow of saliva in his throat. "Tris, how about we learn to dance like this another time? Just do the basics tonight?"

"Why?" She turned to face him, "Can't handle me?"

"Nope, too hot to handle." He laughed, keeping her at arm's length. "Christina is a great dancer, she'll help you learn." He groped off to his right, snagging Christina's shoulder, pulling her off Derrick's lap.

"What?" She snapped, wiping her lips free of saliva.

"Tris wants to learn to dance."

"So? Dance with her."

"I shouldn't. I mean, Shauna…" He was ashamed at the thoughts he was fighting. Christina's eyes widened. She'd been telling herself that her instincts were wrong for the last week, but the confirmation was written in the embarrassment on his face.

"Okay, go get some air." Christina pinched his arm hard as he left, taking control of Tris's swaying body instead.

* * *

Four was eager to get back to Dauntless. So much so that he started walking along the train track at four in the morning. His nervous fidgeting and the indigestion from what had been an incredibly spicy dinner kept him from sleeping. Laying awake for hours, he figured he might as well walk. Even though he had four weeks to think all the thoughts he could possibly think between one footstep and the next, his mind still managed to drift someplace new.

He hadn't let himself think about, let alone visualize, the possible reactions Tris might have when he saw her next. There was a strong, resentful part of him that wished she never existed; that he should have ranked her lower in stage one and been rid of the distraction. But, she did exist. And he didn't rank her low and she was waiting back in Chicago regardless of how he felt. His contemplation faded and lapsed for a few moments into anxiety before he forced himself to move on. He was surprised when his thoughts drifted towards hope. He hoped that she'd be excited; he imagined that she'd come through the hallway and he'd be waiting in the training room and she'd light up with a smile just from seeing him.

But he dismissed hope when self-reproach crept in, convincing him of his selfishness and audacity in even considering that possibility. Anger wrenched the fantasy away completely: her smiling lips would instead twist into a horrified grimace and her body would shrink into the wall in fear. Her presence in Dauntless would always be marked by fear, a continual repercussion and dreaded reminder of the monster he'd become. He whipped his mind back and forth between the two extremes, spending less and less on the former and more on the latter.

When he heard the train approach behind him, Four pulled himself on with some reservations. It was only a matter of time before he'd be faced with reality. Even hanging out the door in the crisp morning air didn't exhilarate him past his undulating thoughts.

The compound was quiet: not even morning people were out so early. And unsurprisingly, no one was there to greet him. He hauled his pack up to his apartment and stumbled through the door to obvious signs of occupation. Unlike the disaster the kids had left, this mess had a distinct sense of minor responsibility and even hasty and interrupted cleaning. It was clear from the pile of dirty laundry that Rafael was back from Amity, but nowhere to be seen.

Four, despite being tired, nervous, and admittedly in need of a shower, set about straightening and decluttering his living quarters. He discarded trash, collected glasses, cleaned the dishes in the sink, rinsed the liquor bottles for Bud and set them on the edge of the counter. He collected and set Rafael's spare shoes in the closet, and hung up the coats, one obviously for a female.

He turned his focus to the bed, stripping the sheets and starting the laundry before finding his alternate set equally soiled. He sighed, tried to break away and pause to get clean himself, yet couldn't help but continue until the trash was emptied, his laundry was sorted, and the dust was removed from the bookcase. He pulled the books and rearranged them alphabetically, and straightened each item on his counter to be evenly spaced, exactly how he had left them. He looked around and saw nothing too far out of place until he opened the bathroom door anticipating a relaxing shower.

The whiskers, scattered razors on the counter, and the wad of hair in the drain distressed him into a rage. He slammed the door and stalked out, away from the maddening mess. He had no bedding, no food, and no bathroom to shower in. He was tired of cleaning up after someone else. He took a deep breath and checked his watch as he stomped to Lauren's. It was nearing eight, and if Rafael was back, Lauren would be, too.

He did her the kindness of knocking, ignoring the key on his ring to be polite. He hoped she'd been in the training room with Tris, that he could get her candid and less involved feedback on how she was. And maybe get a location on Rafael so he could properly strangle him for the mess. He heard stumbling footsteps and the start of a yawn as the door swung open.

"Oh, my God!" She mused in a hushed tone. Her hair stuck up in every direction and her clothes were baggy and too big. She launched herself at him, and the pressure of her contact mellowed his agitation. "When did you get here? We thought you'd be here closer to lunch or even tomorrow. We didn't know how they were counting." She let him in. "That hair, that lip… what the hell?" She started, and he bit at the ring, surprised he'd forgotten to remove it. His fingers immediately went to cover it as he took in the obvious remnants of a party, including the bodies on the floor and the couch.

His eyes adjusted from initial amusement to finding the details, and what he saw roused the monster inside him. Tris was curled with her arms around her knees, leaning in the crook of Zeke's arm, her head on his chest. Zeke's arm limply dangled over her back, caught in Christina's hair. Christina had her arms entwined around Tris, but that barely registered.

"Wakey, wakey." Lauren clapped loudly, giddy at their startled groans. "Four's back!"

Tris lit up with a broad grin, untangled Chris's arms and eagerly shifted to the edge of the couch cushion, nervously nibbling on her lip. She attempted to ignore the throbbing in her temple, but her hand came up to give a soothing press. Four backed away, barely holding in his accusations, his face blank. He backed out of the room, shutting the door between them.

"What was that all about?" Lauren looked as confused as Tris. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, then slapped her forehead. "You and Zeke on the couch."

Tris took an educated guess and pursued him to his apartment. She knocked quietly, tentatively. He popped it open and backed away as if repelled, saying nothing.

"Tobias." She started, stepping through the door and closing it quietly.

"Him? Really? With him?" He looked at her, his eyes begging.

"Nothing happened." She assured, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, that didn't look like nothing."

"I fell asleep on the couch, with friends."

"You slept with my best friend. Dozens of guys here and you choose him?"

"We had clothes on!" She shouted, pulling on the hem of her shirt to emphasize. "You're not all upset about me sleeping with Christina."

"Should I be?"

"You're being ridiculous."

He stopped himself and sighed, "What do you care anyways. Just go."

"No. You just got back and I want to see you. We need to talk."

"Yeah, back from being punished for looking after you! And you crawl in bed with my best friend?"

"Nothing happened! And you didn't get punished for me. You got punished for you."

"For me?" He chuckled as he yelled, "Yeah, that was for me."

"It made you feel better about me being with someone else."

"No, he hurt you. If anyone ever hurts you — "

"I can take care of myself. I don't need you to go fight my battles."

"Didn't seem like you were fighting. You never even reported him. You like that rough shit?" Four dropped his eyes immediately, startled at what he said.

Tris had to take a breath, determined to focus on the issue. "Maybe that wasn't the fight I was wanting to pick."

"Oh 'cuz there's so many?" He said, measured, calmer.

"Just one big one. You and your secrets and your silence and never telling anyone what's going on with you. That's the fight I want to start."

"Nothing is going on with me. There are no secrets."

"Bullshit! You haven't told anybody about Milwaukee. Like, what happened to your hand?"

"Fuck!" He gripped an empty liquor bottle from the edge of the counter and threw it across the room shattering it on the wall. "A fucking work accident!"

Tris took two steps back towards the door and wrapped her hand around the door knob. She dropped her volume, wanting to keep him from escalating anymore. "That's a lie. Your buddy isn't so tough to crack when he's liquored up. Something about guys in an alley? What happened?"

"Stop turning this back on me. You're the one sleeping with my friend!" He realized he was lurching towards her with curled fists when he heard the sound of her quickly twisting the door knob in retreat. He caught himself, not certain of his intentions and immediately rounded back taking deep breaths. She relaxed her wrist and he heard her let go of the knob.

"Sleeping! Clothed, drunken, passed-out sleeping!" She shouted, "I've been here almost every day since you were gone: training, getting ready for sims, the damn truth serum, all for your dumb ass. I didn't try so hard for you to pick one innocent thing and shove it in my face."

Four folded his arms and pressed into the counter, determined to stay put until his hands weren't fists.

"I told you everything, okay? I told you about Matthew. I told you about my screwed up dream and my equally shitty decision. I told you I would come back to Dauntless if it meant we could be together. I'm going to tell you what I've been through since you left. All you've done is walk around the city a dozen times while I've been working my ass off to get back in, for you."

She was right, not that he could say it. Not that he could ever admit out loud how little he had tried in comparison to how hard she'd worked. But the fact remained, they weren't together and that fueled his stubbornness.

"So when you decide you can be a little honest, you can find me in the training room." Slamming his door felt good, but running into the tentative and waiting spectators in the hallway threw her over the edge. Tris threw her hands up and let out a shrieking, frustrated groan, declaring, "Asshole!" as she passed through them.

Christina followed at her heels. Zeke smiled after them, loving the passion unleashed after so many days of revisiting the same timid and insecure conversation.

"What now?" Four yelled, answering the tap at the door.

"Can I explain?" Zeke asked, hands in his pockets.

"Fine." He seethed, but he didn't back away or let him in.

"Last night, Lauren and I got a group together and we got ourselves plastered. We ended up in Lauren's apartment playing… poker? I can't remember. Anyways, Christina passed out first and I was pretty close behind. I didn't even know Tris was on the couch." Four took in a few breaths, and relaxed his jaw. "She's your girl. I know that. And you're my brother, you know that. So use your fucking head for a second."

"She's not mine. She can fuck whoever she wants. But you?" Four bit his cheek.

"Nothing happened, nothing will ever happen." Zeke pressed, holding out his hand. "I swear it. Besides, Shauna just got back and I'm not gonna fuck that up by letting you, of all people, start rumors. And who the hell are you to judge? How many girls you fuck since I left?"

Four blew out his cheeks and shook his head, backing away to give him access, "None."

"Good, now, do you have some aspirin?" Zeke asked, pushing his way into the apartment and into the mess of the bathroom to rifle through his medicine cabinet.

"Tris doesn't seem as damaged as you described." Four started, pulling out a drawer in the kitchen and tapping a few pills into his hand.

"Yeah, things have really improved in the last week or so. She's completely off the meds. She's ready for the loyalty check and everything. And the 104 seems to have worked out pretty well."

"She seems angrier."

"You rattled that cage, my friend, and you should never rattle that cage. That's what I've learned in the last couple weeks. She's got a temper and a wicked right hook. I swear there's cement in her knuckles."

"Yeah, just saw the temper." Four ran his tongue over his teeth and started to curse his own escalation.

"The whole faction just heard it." Zeke snickered, pressing his temple with his index finger to slow the throb. "She has a point about the secrets and stuff." Zeke held his hand out, waiting for the magic tablets.

"There's no point in bringing that shit up, it doesn't matter." Four dropped them into his hand and tossed the bottle back in the drawer, slamming it shut.

"If it doesn't matter, then why keep it from her?"

The conversation between him and Tris, followed by his best friend taking her side, cemented him into a foul mood. He couldn't keep himself from stomping on his way to check the sheets in the washer.

"It's none of her business." He wrestled the wet, twisted bedding into the dryer.

"Yeah, uh-huh. You picked Dauntless's most curious member and you think you can get away with avoiding her questions?" Zeke picked up Four's gun and started to play with the mechanics; he was always fascinated that Four could get the relics working time and time again.

"Most curious? What do you know about it?" Four stopped his motions and crossed his arms, back on the defensive, feeding his suspicions with his insecurities.

Zeke admitted, with a side smile meant to disarm, "I have spent a lot of time with her. Like I get why you like her, now. She's cute, she's funny. She's a pistol without a safety switch."

"And nothing happened?" Four didn't even notice his fingers curling into fists, but Zeke did.

"You know how I like my women — they better be able to put me on my ass — and Tris isn't exactly built to my specifications."

"How about that right hook?" Four challenged.

"Okay, a couple of those and I'd be out. But seriously, I'm fixing things with Shauna. I'm not going to fuck that up."

Four's mood lightened. "So, what did I miss while I was gone?"

"Shauna went up to the Bureau, without me, but Hector and I cleaned her apartment, got her flowers, stocked her fridge. And now that she's back, I've got my foot in the door. I'm trying to be as patient as possible. Not to say I haven't been tempted elsewhere. But you know, Tris and Christina and the patrol guys have been great at keeping me out of trouble. And with Lauren back, there's no way she'd let me screw it up. Oh, and Scarlet got herself knocked up, so that's been extra special."

"Really? Who with?" Four hated the Pedrad family drama, any drama in general. But talking about anything other than how Zeke probably knew Tris better than him couldn't be bad. Zeke's further explanation and animated recreation of the arguments and catty statements between his family members collapsed into a droning background as Four replayed each of Tris's statements in his head, struggling to decide what he should do since all of them were true.

* * *

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	29. CH29: Exposed

**Thanks for the patience between updates. Also, thanks to Milner and BK2U for their assistance in cleaning everything up. Please direct your responses, questions, comments, etc. to the box below.**

* * *

"Four, come in," Johanna commanded as the rest of the Council filed out.

"Therese said I should come see you." He entered, politely tucking his hands behind his back, but he couldn't keep from nervously playing with the ring in his lip.

"I figured you would come back to work as soon as you could. Your presence has been missed. They're in shambles and frankly, they are driving everyone nuts." She smiled, offering him a seat on a pillow on the floor.

"Yeah, it didn't sit well with me that I had to disappear on them."

"The consequences were discussed openly, but the actions that lead you to be punished were not." He nodded with a thankful smile. "I was repulsed by what you did," she stated bluntly. Four tucked his chin to his chest, unwilling to watch the disappointment on her face. "I see so much potential when I look at you. You're smart, you see things logically enough to make good, sound decisions. You're a leader. But there are parts of you I can't even begin to understand. Violence is not a solution, especially not here."

"Understood."

"I need assurances."

"I promise —"

"No, not words. I need to see actions to make sure that everyone is safe when they work with you. I have made an appointment for you for an initial session, with a minimum of three required, or more at the counselor's discretion. And I'll get progress reports, so don't think you can shirk out of it. If you take it seriously, you can earn the privilege of coming back to work. If you don't, then not only will you not be welcome here, but I will deeply regret being unable to help you." She extended a card with a mix of text and handwriting.

"What do you mean, counselor?" He took the card from her, reading out the name and credentials, the location, the time. "A therapist? Really?"

"You have issues managing your temper and she can help. Members of Amity have benefited greatly over the years from this type of support. You need to take care of what's between your ears just as much as the rest of you. And I have to put the safety of the people in this building above whatever affection I have towards you."

Four had to concentrate on the deep breath entering his lungs to avoid lashing out, realizing immediately the truth in her statement. "Okay, I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I guess."

"Good. I'm glad." She smiled warmly. "Until I hear from Melissa, please refrain from coming to the building."

"Johanna…"

"Please, Four. For everyone's peace of mind, and for yourself," she firmly insisted.

* * *

The way the couch squeaked as he sat down emphasized his anxiety in the slightly cluttered room. He was reminded of the school counselor's office, which was also run by a Candor therapist. He recalled the times when he had to turn his face down to his knees and lie for his father when his bruises showed too much. By the sixth time he was in that room, he'd hoped they would finally pick up on it, maybe rescue him, but they never did.

Melissa smiled broadly, her jovial and pleasant greeting striking him as fake, suspicious. She tried the normal introductions, explaining about herself and asking about him. He kept his answers short, matching what he assumed was in his public file. Four established from the start that he was not going to reveal everything and that she had no right to ask him to. She continued with a sigh and looked at him like he was a puzzle, trying to figure out how to get him to let her in.

"What type of behaviors, in your opinion, require a physical correction?"

Four grumbled as he rolled his eyes, fixating his stare on the multi-colored tufts that made up the rug on the floor. This was not unlike playing a game: she stared at him while he stared at nothing. Melissa refused to talk when her first question lingered unanswered, holding the sheet of paper that would become his first progress report. It was the only card that could be played and it was in her hand, being shaken a little as a reminder, a threat. He knew it was stupid to be so stubborn, but it didn't mean he would easily budge.

Four finally gave his head an exaggerated shake and made eye contact. He was too mentally exhausted from fighting with Tris, thinking over Zeke's supporting arguments, and sitting through the Pedrad family drama to exercise much patience.

"Is it that hard of a question to answer?" She broke with a jab.

"You should probably repeat it. Dauntless don't think so good," he sneered.

It was her turn to roll her eyes, unable to keep the professional façade. She changed her question instead. "What problems have you solved with physical altercations?"

"I'm a soldier, we just had a war. What do you think?"

"Outside of the war? How many of your life problems have been centered around violence?"

"Life in Dauntless is violence." It was the first time he'd ever applied the stereotype.

"Isn't it also a place of loyalty, and friendship, and family, and community?" she challenged.

He shrugged. "Can be."

"Do you have those things in Dauntless?"

"Even I've got friends."

"How do you settle differences with your friends?"

"The usual way."

"With violence?"

"No."

"Never? You've never been violent towards your friends?"

"I mean, we've had fights and stuff, but that's just part of drills and training and stuff."

"Have any of your fights ever escalated? Have you ever lost control?"

He dropped his eyes and felt a throb where his pinky use to be, where he was still sore from beating Matthew: he wasn't convinced he'd gotten away without a fracture. But he wasn't really thinking about Matthew then, he was thinking about Eric in initiation. Eric was never really a friend and they never saw eye to eye, but he wasn't an enemy until he chose Erudite over Dauntless. And then there was Zeke. In both of their fights he'd gone further than he would have liked. Then there was a distinct memory when he sucker-punched Anxo in the hallway for bumping into him. And another when he threw Rayna off his back and onto the couch — she'd thought he was joking and took it with a laugh, but she didn't know how close he had been to hurting her.

"Tobias? Have you ever lost control?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "Please call me Four."

"When was the last time?"

"I put a guy in the hospital." He chose to talk about Matthew because it was surely in his file.

"If I'm not mistaken, that person was not a friend. When was the last time with a friend?" she pressed.

He let out a long sigh. "A friend and I were sparring. It started friendly, but I sort of lost it. Another friend pulled me off before I hurt him, though."

"Do you recall what sent you over the edge?"

Four swallowed while he carefully rubbed his hand. "He um… He played on one of my weaknesses to try and win. And I don't really remember the rest until after I got pulled off."

Melissa knit her eyebrows together. "You blacked out?"

"Yeah, I guess. One minute I was annoyed, the next minute Zeke was on the ground and I was being pushed backwards."

"How did you feel seeing your friend on the ground like that?"

"Shocked."

"And?"

He mulled it over, hating to admit anything to her. But her insistent expression and the crinkle of the sheet as she tapped it dragged it out of him. "Sorry. I felt sorry for it."

"You felt remorse?""Have you blacked out any other times?"

"Yeah, a couple times." Four shifted uncomfortably.

"More than once?" He shrugged, looking at his hands. Melissa sighed a little and then prodded, "Will you give an example?"

"I lost it with a guy during initiation."

"What happened?" Melissa observed him intently.

"We were the only two undefeated initiates left, so we got matched up to fight. I was losing… badly enough to think it was over. He started taunting me. It made me angry. I lost it. I'm not sure what happened, it's a blur. But, I won the fight and gave him a pretty bad beating."

"Did you regret harming him?"

Four looked away, remembering the fear he had felt afterward at what he was, or what he was becoming. "No. I didn't. He deserved it, and besides, initiation is designed to weed out the weak. I guess I did sort of realize I had to get my temper under control after that."

"So you felt remorse when you realized you'd gone a bit too far with your friend, but not with your fellow initiate?" He nodded, sighing. "When was the last time you acted with violence and didn't feel remorse?"

"Oh, six weeks ago." He chuckled a little and smiled. She froze him with an admonishing stare that nearly had him apologizing.

"And before that?"

"When I was in Milwaukee."

When he'd first pressed on Rud's windpipe he had felt conflicted, and he expected to have it eat away at him, but he never felt remorse. In fact, of all his nightmares, when he saw Rud's eyes turning red and his lips gaping, the surge of pride and righteousness in that moment was what scared him into a panic. The idea that killing someone made him feel powerful also made him feel sick. In the long run, he did regret it, if only for his broken nights of sleep, but he didn't feel remorse over it.

"What is Milwaukee?" she reacted, then corrected her curiosity. "Never mind, just tell me what happened."

"Despite what you think, I'm not stupid. You'll turn me in."

"I'm only required to report something if there's imminent danger to yourself or someone else, or if you identify a victim of abuse."

"Uh-huh. And if I tell you I robbed someone?"

"Confidential." She smiled warmly.

"If I assaulted someone?"

"Confidential." Her smile dipped as she shrugged.

"If I murdered someone?"

"Confidential," she said slowly, pinching her eyebrows closer together as she registered the truth in his expression.

"You can't report me?"

"No, absolutely not. I mean, I'll have questions, lots of questions, but I can't report you." She swallowed hard.

"And that notebook of yours?"

"Only if I'm ordered by the court to share do I have to share."

"So if you don't report me, but someone else does, your notes are evidence?"

"They could be, but only if they're related to the crime."

"And that progress report for Johanna, what goes in there?"

"Results of my evaluations. If I think you're a hazard in the workplace or general statements on your progress, no actual information about what we talk about in our sessions."

He nodded and looked around the little room, knowing full well there was a camera in the top right corner. The model told him that there was no sound, and he tried to remember if the quality would be good enough to pick up the writing in her book.

"So, Milwinni?" she mispronounced with as kind of a smile as she could bear.

"Milwaukee," he corrected. "It's a city on the outside. I went there looking for work, and while I was there I killed a man." He was still looking around when he said it. When he turned back to her, she had pulled back.

When Melissa sensed the truth in their back and forth, she felt uncomfortable, anxious. His distracted glances had hardened his delivery, making him sound unaffected. Plainly stating what should have been a difficult concept with clear enunciation, and without blinking or fidgeting outside of his wandering glance, sent a chill over her body, a dryness claiming her throat.

"How did it happen?" she managed to whisper, clearing her throat to bolster her courage.

Four held out his hands in front of him, watching how his fingers steadily hovered in relation to each other. The white raised scar across his forearm claimed his attention while he recalled the struggle between them. He imagined the feel of the bar, rough and heavy in his hand. How cold it was against his sore fingers already aching from the pull-ups. How raw his fingers felt the day after, and the sting of the cuts as they healed without stitches.

"How did it happen?" she asked again, bringing his eyes up to hers.

"He came at me with a knife behind the work house. I got him on the ground and I used a bar to crush his throat. I held him down until he stopped moving."

"Was this someone you knew?"

"Yes."

"And what lead to this altercation?"

"I knew he was a thief and he knew that I could have turned him in at any time. So, he tried to kill me before I did."

She let the tension fall out of her shoulders. "Self-defense. That's not exactly the same as murder."

"Maybe, but I still killed him. I could have stopped. Even thought about it. But I decided to kill him."

"Why did you feel he should die?"

"Knew he'd try again, and again. And if it wasn't me, then he'd have gone after someone else." He shrugged, folding his arms over each other and gripping his elbows.

"What did you feel afterward?"

"I didn't want to get caught."

"Did you feel remorse?"

"No."

"But when you've hurt your friends, you do?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. I think about things I've done from time to time — months, years."

She let out a deep breath, her nerves calming as she realized he wasn't a sociopath. "So, how do you feel about …" Melissa paused as she pulled a list from the folder in front of her, "Putting a hole through the wall with your fist, throwing a binder at a faction leader during a meeting, and throwing items in meetings during 'violent tirades'?"

Four hung his head with a sigh, glad Dauntless wasn't smart enough to punish him with therapy like Johanna had. Three sessions would surely be more torture than four weeks walking.

* * *

"You said you would." Zeke nudged him out of the stairwell and down the right fork of the hall.

"What's the point?" Four's exasperated sigh echoed down the hall.

"You listen first, and then you can make decisions," Zeke assured him.

"Does it have to be now?"

"Stop whining."

"It's a waste of time. We could be shooting right now."

"Yeah, like you need to burn more ammo." Zeke rolled his eyes.

"I just finished another rebuild. I need to try it out."

Zeke didn't respond, taking him instead all the way to the end of the hallway and stopping outside Christina's door. "So, Christina and I will be in the apartment. If it escalates, we'll step in before anyone gets too out of control. If it goes well, then you guys talk it out and then we can quietly and calmly leave. And I promise you, we can go get shit-faced while you think it over."

"Yeah, let's just skip to shit-faced."

"Focus. From this point forward no snide comments, alright? And no eye rolling, no pounding tables, no shouting, no interrupting, and no name-calling either. And just don't break anything. You sit and you listen. Then you maybe talk or something, and then you can go. Agreed?"

"Yeah, okay." Four nodded, took a breath, and followed through the door.

Four could hear the tail end of a slightly different pep-talk in one of the rooms beyond the kitchen. He looked around at the generous living space, the upgraded appliances, and the couch with throw pillows and blankets. "Who do I have to blow to get an upgrade?" Four received a smack in the stomach and a warning glance.

Tris didn't meet his eyes when she came out and leaned back against the counter. It felt good to see her looking ashamed and hesitant. Christina ushered Zeke down the hallway, back into the room beyond his line of sight. Four pulled a chair out from the table and turned it around, sitting so he could drape his arms over the back.

"So?" he prompted, sternly.

"So… umm, thanks for coming," she mumbled. He tried not to look at her, to keep his focus on being silent and not reactive. "Did you read my note?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"It was a bit rambling," he snarked. She sighed and he corrected himself. "You've been sick, you weren't feeling well, and I surprised you. Yeah, I read it."

"So?"

"I've been instructed that I'm supposed to just listen."

"Okay…"

He was about to leave if the pause dragged out any longer – there was no point in listening to the ventilation system. She looked scattered for a few moments, her lips moving with some thought going through her head, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs. He let out an exhausted sigh and shifted, getting ready to leave.

"I'm seeing a therapist," she stated softly, "And she says I should just tell you everything, but it's harder than I thought." She took three long, deep breaths before continuing. "I wasn't feeling well when I saw you on the train. I was tired and my head was killing me, and when you were there I just couldn't control myself. And that's because I'm an addict." She let out a shaky breath, swallowed, and examined his face for judgment or any reaction. But he held still and stern. "I'm an addict and I was going through, am still kind of going through, withdrawal. I'm in a program now, it's part of the 104 protocol…" She paused again to look up and check if he recognized the depth of that admission, but his face was unreadable, like stone, his gaze focused somewhere to her right.

"There's these steps I have to take to get better and stay better, and step one is admitting that I'm an addict. And there's all these ones about finding God and finding yourself, and then one about admitting when we've hurt people and to make up for it, in some way. So I want you to know that I know what I've done to you." Tris pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper.

"I hurt you, Tobias. I said things last summer that brought us closer together – truthful things – and then I turned around and lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't trust you then, and that I didn't talk to you. And I'm sorry I wasn't more compassionate about your mother or about Erudite. I shouldn't have left after promising you I wouldn't. And I'm sorry I went behind your back and went to Erudite, again, with Marcus. I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you about Will when it happened. I'm sorry I broke my promise to you and went into that room, and also that I thought you were starting something with Nita. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when Uriah died. I'm even more sorry that I didn't wait to talk through how I felt after I woke up. I'm sorry I called you names at work, and that I pestered you for weeks about a second chance that I didn't deserve. I'm sorry I said those things on the train, I didn't mean them. And I'm sorry I keep inflicting myself on you like this. It's the last time, I swear."

"Is that all?" he mumbled, realizing his gaze had dropped to the table as she'd spoken.

"I'm supposed to make it up to you somehow. The only way I probably can is to just give you space. Forever, if you want. Or, you know, whatever you think could make it up. I'll quit Dauntless, if it makes it easier on you."

Four looked up at her. The tears she'd been crying had come out silently and she was clutching a tissue, wringing it between her fingers. When her hand went to her face, he saw a flashing light on a bracelet. No, a tracking monitor. The ones Dauntless used for several protocols: habitual rule breakers like him and Zeke a few years back, and suicidal people on prevention protocol 104. The protocol he'd rarely seen in use but had to read about as part of his instructor training. The one he had dismissed so easily since he couldn't remember it for the last few weeks.

"104?" he asked. He needed to confirm it, again, hear her say it. She nodded, looking ashamed, judged, humiliated. "When?"

"Right after you left. When I realized what I said and what I ruined, again. But I was too afraid of it hurting, or surviving, so I didn't get very far. Guess it's good to be a coward sometimes," she murmured, then added, "It's also a symptom of the pills I was coming off of. But, you know, when things compounded…"

His chest seized at the thought that he could have come back and she could have been gone, just like he'd hoped for a brief moment on the train. For all the bad things she'd said and the hurt he'd felt, the idea of the initiate that came alive when things got tough being turned into a pile of ash like she'd never existed was crippling to his ability to process.

"So… I should leave, right? Dauntless doesn't need a coward and you don't need a mess like me hanging around every corner. I'd be a bad memory that just won't fade." Tris bit her nails, fidgeting.

"Don't do anything." Four stood up. "I don't know, Tris. I just, I don't know. Zeke! I'm out," he called as he passed through the door and stood in the hallway.

"Well?" Zeke asked as Four took off. He badgered him every few doors with comments like, "No thoughts?" and "Don't hold this in, it's not healthy."

But Four picked a silent path back to his apartment, and once inside, he sat at his table hunkered over little bits of metal and springs from a broken gun.

"Okay… Do I need to get the liquor?"

"No. I just...I can't think," Four snapped, picking up the barrel and running a cleaning cloth through it.

"Can't or won't?"

"How did she get caught? You know, for the 104?"

Zeke hesitated before sitting. "At the chasm. I found her on the edge leaning against a post. She didn't even move when I called her name. Freaked me out."

"And since?"

"We all split our time, keep track of her."

"We all who?"

"Christina, Caleb, Amar sometimes. The infirmary has staff that escorts her when we can't. And the tracking system is there if all else fails."

"And you?"

Zeke shrugged at the raised eyebrow. "Yeah, me, too. She needs friends, I need friends. There's not a lot of us left, if you recall. So I train with her, talk to her, I invite her to things and get her out and meeting more people."

"So, if I call it all off, she gonna jump?" Four continued polishing.

"No. I don't think so. She's doing better. So, you're done with her, then?"

"I don't know, maybe." He started to thread the pieces back together. "I'm no good for her, that's for sure. And she hasn't exactly been that great for me."

Zeke shrugged. "You make her want to do better. That's not so bad."

"Yeah? And how long until I lose it and she's trying to hide bruises and broken bones?"

"You wouldn't."

"I almost did. I got so angry seeing you two that I went at her."

"But you didn't do anything."

"But I could have. And when I do, she doesn't stand a chance."

"She's stronger than she looks. You know she's an alright fighter."

"Alright isn't good enough." He pulled back the action and set the reassembled gun down.

Zeke studied him for a moment. "Maybe just take a break, then. You work on you, she works on her…"

"Therapist was bad enough. Don't you start, too."

"The therapist that Tris is with has helped her a lot. I mean, you have to do these sessions, right? Might as well try to get something out of it."

* * *

"So Tris, it's been a while since we last met. I was very concerned when you rescheduled our appointment," Melissa carefully chastised.

"I'm sorry. I just, I had it under control, and I needed to go out to Amity for an overnight trip. So I had to push it back a little."

"Coming off medications is supposed to be monitored. There can be side effects and difficulties. How have you been feeling since we last spoke?"

"Better, I think. Better." She shrugged. "I mean, I actually feel more things now, which is good, right?"

"What types of feelings do you have?"

"I don't know." She got a quirked eyebrow in response and relented. "Hopeful, sad, lost, joyful, excited. You know, more than just angry and sad."

"What about thoughts related to hurting yourself? Have you had any of those?"

"Once or twice," she admitted. "But not like urges, just thoughts." She smiled hopefully. "That's better, right?"

"It does sound better." Melissa paused, "What type of thoughts?"

"I thought about falling off a building. Which I know sounds like hurting myself, but I didn't think about it to hurt myself."

"Falling or jumping?"

"Falling. I was sitting on the roof of my apartment…" The shift in Melissa's posture put her on the defensive. "I was just watching the sunset, it's not like I wanted to jump or anything. I was sitting, and when the wind blew, I thought, for a second, about that freedom when you fall off a tall building. That time between having something solid beneath you and the compression of my body crushing into the ground."

"Do you imagine this sensation a lot?" Melissa was making notes, concern knitting her brow into crevassed wrinkles.

"I didn't imagine it, I remembered it. I did it, once, in Dauntless. I went through, umm, someone's landscape and it involved falling off a building."

"So this sensation or thought, how does it make you feel?"

"Well, excited," she admitted.

"Not morose or sad?"

"No."

"Where was your brother when you were on the roof?"

"Oh, yeah. He was with me. He goes up with me and we talk up there sometimes."

"Okay, good. What else since we last discussed?"

"My…ex-" It was harder to say than to think, but she struggled it out. "My ex-boyfriend came back to town."

Melissa sat back in her chair, opening up her posture. "Is this the same ex who went outside the fence last winter? And then was just at the fence for punishment?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

Melissa was quiet for just a moment. "Tris, is his name Tobias Eaton?"

"Yes…"

"I should have put it together sooner. I have to disclose, to both of you. He was assigned to me as well."

"What? He's in therapy?"

"I can't discuss the specifics of his situation with you or yours with him. But I have to get one of you reassigned. It's a conflict of interest to be in the middle of a couple."

"Oh, I um… Which one?"

"Well, I don't know. I have to say, his situation is more my area of expertise, but we have an established relationship."

"We're not together. We'll be like strangers, eventually," Tris offered with a shrug.

"Would you reconcile?"

"I doubt it."

"But if given the chance, Tris, would you?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "But I don't think he would."

"I'll talk to my supervisor and see what we should do. In the meantime, we should avoid discussing aspects of your therapy that are related to him, if possible. Let's focus on your 12-step progress. Have you shared at a meeting yet?"

"Oh, no." She responded slowly, her attention stuck on why someone like Tobias — untrusting, independent, strong — would ever see a therapist.

* * *

**Comments in the box below... PMs if you need more room. I know it seems like you have to wait forever for updates, but this story is not going to be abandoned, I promise. So thanks for sticking with me.**


	30. CH30: on a scale of one to five

**I meant to have this up a week ago, but I've been adulting something fierce. My sincerest thanks to Ms. Milner for her encouragement and BK2U for slipping this to the front of her sizable queue.**

* * *

Harrison assigned Four a week of overnight shifts. He made it seem like it was for the morale of the rest of the control room staff, but Four suspected it was rooted in extending his punishment, or a petty attempt at keeping him from Tris. He didn't mind the separation, the quiet, the solitude that accompanied the late hours. And the fact that he could fall into bed just after breakfast and not have to deal with anyone most of the day specifically appealed to his need to be alone and think.

The overnight shift lasted twelve hours, from seven to seven. Normally no one did more than four nights in a row, but Harrison insisted he needed to 'catch up' on the rotation. As long as he cleared out of the training room before four, he would miss Tris, still get his training in, and also have a viable excuse to avoid Amar's insistent requests for him to restart sims, at least for a week.

With every distracting thought running through his head, the task of taking on his fears felt too onerous. With the level of self-reflection his evaluation session had forced him into, and even getting constant questions from Zeke, Amar, Lauren, and Rafael about his way forward with Tris, he was left more afraid than ever to face her in his sim. At least on the overnights he could avoid anything he wanted and focus on the cameras, the system maintenance, and any surveillance requests from Candor.

Despite his stack of work, Four's attention was drawn to the training room early on the second night when he noticed Zeke and Tris together at the punching bags. Zeke was wrapping her hands or checking them – the image wasn't clear enough to see which – and then they were walking out of range of the camera towards the sparring mats. Four sat up straighter in his chair and leaned in, flipping the monitors until he had her back on camera. Zeke's hand was on her lower back, and she bumped into him with her shoulder. It was when he saw the side hug she gave him that Four felt a rip through his chest. He almost flipped the monitor, but stopped when Zeke pushed her out onto the mat to face Lauren.

Tris looked hesitant and more than a little nervous. Facing an initiation instructor, knowing she didn't rank very high in the first stage, had her palms on her pants with every step. Lauren's posture was steady and open, inviting Tris to make the first move. Amar stepped up to the front of the small crowd, flipped a bucket over, and sat down to watch, clipboard in hand. This was an evaluation for her drills, for her re-initiation.

Four couldn't stop himself from hoping she'd perform well. Her opening attack proved that all the training she'd been putting in with Zeke had been paying off. While she was weak with her left shoulder, she was strong with her right. And she was _fast_. They jostled back and forth: when Lauren got her on the ground, Tris used her flexibility and her legs to keep Lauren off-balance, pulling free to launch her own grappling attack. At the end of three minutes, Four knew she'd passed, that she was even more improved over initiation. He caught himself smiling before he finally flicked the camera signal out to the streets of the city center.

Four days in and his body had finally adjusted to the sleep schedule, leaving him feeling more human when he took his position in the swivel chair. Boredom led him to explore more of the system, looking to see where the bandwidth was being allocated and why the processors were running dangerously close to capacity. He found an aerial map of the facility lit up with red dots and orange dashed lines. A little digging led him straight to the list of tracking bracelet IDs.

The bracelets were mostly handed out to kids with a history of violating curfew restrictions or to anyone that was a repeat offender for stealing or some other petty crime — maybe even for one too many pranks. But now, suicidal members on protocol 104 were added to that list. All of them wore transponders that sent alerts automatically to the facility's security response teams if they crossed into specific, restricted areas. One of those dots was Tris, and identifying which became his obsession, until he finally saw one out in the train yard disappear. He wrote down its number.

It was a way to watch her. To make sure she was safe without having to see the hugs between her and Zeke, or how Ro was pulling her aside with increasing frequency to flirt with her, or even seeing all the other guys that turned to watch her pass. They were all reminders of a future that was about to become the present whenever she finally picked someone. The slow and smooth movements of the dot became mesmerizing as it circled the training room when she was running, and it was comforting how it was in the same position in the dining hall most nights, sitting with Zeke. There was something about replacing her with a dot that made it feel less voyeuristic and romanticized, even to him. But he knew he was still drawn to her, no matter the level of detail.

* * *

A tall and narrow-nosed man, wearing glasses that made his eyes look too small and close together, peeked out from the door with a stern expression. "Tobias Eaton, I'm ready to see you."

"I prefer to go by Four, no last name."

"Right, take a seat. I'm Carl." He offered him the clean and stiff-cushioned couch, and took his position in a chair directly across from him. A sparse coffee table with a battered pack of crayons and a stack of white paper was positioned between them.

"I have the summary sheet from Melissa from your first evaluation. I've reviewed the facts of your childhood, your documented misbehaviors, and the description of the position you held with the central government. So Tobias, on a scale of one to five, with one being no aggression at all and five being unable to control yourself, how would you rate your interaction with other Dauntless members in the last week?"

"Like, on average, or..."

"Worst case."

"A four, I guess. And my name is Four." He watched the pen circle on the sheet.

"On a scale of one to five, with one being no aggression at all and five being unable to control yourself, how would you rate your interaction with your superiors in the last week?"

"Three." He shrugged, his brow furrowing in annoyance. He didn't think he'd appreciate the introductory chit-chat that Melissa had used at the start of their session, but in contrast, her approach was preferred.

"On a scale of one to five, with one being no aggression at all and five being unable to control yourself, how would you rate your interaction with your peers or friends in the last week? You do have friends, right?"

"Yeah, I do. Two." Four folded his arms and fought the urge to stand up and leave.

"Two friends or a two on the scale?"

"On the scale." He dug his fingers into his arms.

"On a scale of one to five, with one being no aggression at all and five being unable to control yourself, how would you rate your interaction with other peers that you do not consider your friends in the last week?"

"Three."

"You previously said you would rank your behavior towards other members as a four, but you did not select that rank for any of the subclasses of Dauntless members. Which response was not honest?"

"I don't know. I guess nothing was above a three."

"Then why did you say four?"

"I don't know."

"You must have had a reason to select four. Describe the altercation you were thinking about."

"I don't know. I guess when Harrison said I didn't get enough done on my first shift."

"Is Harrison a peer-friend, a peer-non-friend, or a superior?"

"Superior, I guess."

"And yet you chose the rank of three when asked about your superiors? Was it a three or a four?"

"A three, I guess."

"You were no more aggressive in your approach in that situation than the other three, which was with your friends?"

"Look, dickhead. What does it matter what I rank things on your arbitrary scale? It was a pretty good week, alright?"

Carl straightened, taking offense, his own tone hinting aggression. "Alright, Four, a week where you have a rank of three is _not_ a good week. A rank of three does not clear you of being a safety risk in an interactive workplace."

"What does a three even mean?"

"What does it mean to you?"

"I'm done with this." He crossed his arms and shut his mouth, trying to control his desire to cross the room and teach a little respect.

"Are you saying you no longer wish to continue the evaluation?"

"I'm saying, you're about to see a five," he seethed.

"Do you find it difficult to complete this evaluation?"

"This isn't an evaluation, it's an interrogation. This is how you talk to criminals."

"Well, from this report, you are a criminal."

"I thought this was supposed to help me. Melissa said this could help me."

"Oh, this is just a formality. You have been submitted for three evaluative sessions. However, since you were not informed prior, my resulting recommendation is unlikely to change by the end of our next session."

"What?" Four's expression changed, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"With your history of being abused and being violent towards others, you've already begun to repeat the cycle of abuse. Statistically, it's unlikely you'll ever be safe. It's really in the best interest of everyone if you stay in Dauntless, and that you isolate yourself from those that are most at risk: women and children."

"So, that's it? I mean, there's nothing I can do?" The wind was knocked out of him, the anger dissipating quickly at the stark realization. He was already a monster. He felt foolish for hoping otherwise.

"If you were coming to me strictly as an abuse victim, then perhaps there would be. But as an abuse victim who has already established patterns of escalating violence towards others, resources would be better spent elsewhere. If it's the same to you, I still have to complete the evaluation as requested. Unless you select to discontinue."

"No, wait. If that's it, then… what do I do now?"

"Consider your options to limit your impact on others. Find a vocation that you can perform either with strictly male colleagues or alone. Avoid situations which are likely to enter into confrontations."

"I'm Dauntless. I have to fight, it's part of drills."

Carl raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Then you should also consider if Dauntless is really the best place for you."

* * *

A benefit of working the night shift, something that was rarely considered by those assigned to work one, was the ability to stay up all night on a night off. It was something that Four had never abused beyond participating in a few of Zeke's pranks on the factionless or some all night games of paintball. As he mulled over his options within Dauntless and outside of Dauntless, the large bottle from his cabinet dropped from full to a quarter gone. He resolved to start saying his goodbyes, and landed in front of Lauren's door just before dusk.

"Four! Not stuck in the control– " She paused, seeing the bottle, watching him waver on the soles of his feet. "Oh, I've been waiting for this," she chuckled. "The roof?"

"The roof," he confirmed, turning on his heels and starting towards the stairwell. Lauren grabbed a sweater, rousing Rafael from his book, and they followed him.

"So, what are we drinking for?" Lauren asked, taking the bottle.

"Friends." He smiled. "Never thought I'd have them."

Lauren exchanged a look with Rafael who only shrugged. "Okay, sentimental Four is a little new to me."

"Shut up and drink up," he laughed, thrusting the bottle towards her. "Tell me about Amity."

Lauren and Rafael glossed over the details, but moaned about the heat in the fields, completely ignoring how Lauren came to be leaning against Rafael while he stroked up and down her back.

But Four was looking for a night of total distraction, something akin to a last meal, before killing his friendship with Lauren with as much distance as he could manage. He scrambled for a topic, finally settling on something he already knew from talking to Walt so many times. "So, what are the hoop houses made out of?"

"Clear glass attached to the frames. They have these, like, lever-things that they open to let hot air out the top when it's too warm, and these hoses that spray water over the plants in a mist," Rafael described. "They have an issue with mildew growing up the walls. After Lauren broke a pane, they wouldn't let her use the tools in there, so she had to clean the glass."

"Ugh, I swear my hands still smell." Lauren made a face, sniffing her fingertips.

"And you planted stuff?" Four asked, pointing at Rafael.

"Um, yeah."

"Like what?"

"Soybeans, squash, strawberries, tomatoes, lots of stuff." Lauren shrugged. "What's with the questions?"

"I don't know, I'm curious."

"Curious, sentimental… did you hit your head?"

"Just thought we should catch up, is that a crime?" Four snapped.

"No, just unusual." Lauren took a gulp from the bottle. "You're avoiding something."

"Nope." Four took the bottle back.

"Yeah, you're avoiding something… Pretty obviously Tris." He glared at her. "I mean, I didn't get all the details, but you have every right to be pissed. I warned you she'd just walk all over you if you let her."

"Let's not get into it."

"She must be good in bed," Lauren scoffed.

"Shut it, Lauren." Four rolled his eyes.

"You know, she's been getting cozy with Ro in the training room," she mentioned with mock innocence.

Rafael elbowed her. "Nothing's happening. He flirts, she seems not to notice," he assured.

"She's free to do whatever she wants."

"You say that now, but you're obviously still in love with her," Lauren challenged.

"That has nothing to do with why we can't make it work." He took a heavy swig, then handed the bottle over.

"You hear about this competition they want to have?" Rafael asked, moving them all back to Four's original purpose: a distraction.

"No, what?"

"Some rebuilding bullshit." Lauren rolled her eyes. "They're having a citywide festival before Choosing Day so that every faction can, like, demystify themselves. Dauntless is gonna hold a competition. Drills, basically."

"Except no guns," Rafael interjected.

"Right, no guns. But fighting, climbing, some sort of obstacle course."

"And this is for members?" Four looked at her, skeptical.

"And kids. Like anyone in the city can sign up for the events." She shrugged. "Amar's really stressed about it, 'cuz, of course, they're asking him to organize it." The rest of their conversation evolved from why it was impossible, to why it was impractical, finally shifting into slurred rants about the faction and leadership, and even the city itself as the bottle quickly disappeared.

"You are never drinking again!" Lauren announced as Rafael dropped him into her shower with a huff. Four protested, weakly, before he vomited again, too drunk to stop the cold water from blasting him in the face. She peeled off his boots, immediately regretting it as the released odor punched her nostrils. She threw a towel over them and shut the water off. Leaving him in a heap to cool off, Rafael's better judgment leading him to roll Four onto his side.

"God, you asshole." She kicked the door shut and stomped to retrieve water from her kitchen.

* * *

Four had evacuated all the contents of his digestive tract so thoroughly that he expected to see organs circling the drain – instead he found only vomit and blood. Being next to an exploding firecracker seemed preferable to the pulsing ache between his temples. The only solace he found was the cool of the tile. He moved his forehead from one side of the corner to the other, in search of a relieving chill while he attempted to get his frame centered over his knees in preparation for standing.

"In there." He heard Lauren's voice, distant and disgusted, followed by the sound of the door opening and a groan from Zeke.

"What did you do?" Zeke covered his nose and struggled. "He smells like... God! That's not even a smell, it's a crime against humanity."

"I put him in there to hose him off, then I took those boots off. They smell like something died in them, rotted for a few weeks, then walked through manure. And I don't think the water helped."

"Alright, buddy," Zeke said calmly. "It's time to go back to your place. And time to bury the corpse over there."

"Don't touch my shoes," Four groaned, using his hands on the tile to guide himself as he pushed up. Zeke steadied him when he started leaning backwards, falling away from the wall.

"Those aren't shoes anymore." Zeke tried to find a suitable way to hold him without getting vomit on himself before determining that Four's shirt was too soiled. "And this is coming off."

"Zeke…" Four's feeble protest was ignored as he felt the cloth come up and over his head.

"Holy fuck!" he exclaimed, eyeing the black on Four's back. "Lauren, you see this shit?" Four let out a long sigh and slumped into the cold tile, too focused on the pain in his stomach and the swirling of the room to care much about his long-held secret being exposed.

"Whoa. When did you do that?" Lauren's cold hands shocked him when they followed the seals up his back.

"Doesn't matter," Four muttered, taking a few wobbling steps in his wet pants, his hand shielding his eyes.

Zeke kept him somewhat straight through the hallway and maneuvered him down the stairs. With his hand over his eyes, Four didn't have to face the judging and bemused looks from the members they passed.

Securely seated in one of his own chairs, he set his head on his arms and wished for death. Zeke found the bottle of aspirin in the kitchen drawer and shook some tablets out, offering them with a glass of water. Four lifted his head up long enough to sip them down his raw throat with a prayer for relief. Zeke tucked the boots into a garbage bag, tying the top to try and seal in the smell and opened a window.

"What time is it?"

"Four thirty."

"I have a shift tonight," he groaned, burying his face into his arms.

"Really? And you got this drunk? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"Is this some sort of delayed reaction to all the crap with Tris?"

"There is no Tris." He missed the roll of Zeke's eyes.

"You're putting too much pressure on the situation. So you guys are taking a break to figure things out. It doesn't mean you've made a decision or she's made a decision. It's just a break." Zeke couldn't help but examine the tattoo so prominently on display.

"Are you interested in her?" Four had responded with aggression initially, but as he thought about the life she should have once he was gone, the more he wanted her safe, cared for.

"What? No, we've been over this, she's your girl," Zeke defended with a sigh.

"I want her with someone that'll take care of her, you know? Someone that'll treat her right. You'd treat her right."

"Are you still drunk?"

"I'm serious. You'd never hurt her. You'd keep her safe."

"Just... shut up and drink the water." Zeke pushed it back at him. "I'm getting that tea from Amar."

"No…" Four groaned. Amar's special blend of herbs and spices worked one of two ways. It either brought everything up or it pushed everything out. In either case, the result was a worn, but sober soldier.

"I know. It's a last resort, but you are in no shape to man the control room. Harrison will kill you."

* * *

Melissa stretched and took a deep breath of the musty air outside the Dauntless infirmary. She liked these types of consultations, the ones where they took monitors off at the end. She had one more stop she wanted to make before she left. Turning to her escort, she asked, "I'd like to visit a member named Four. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Four? Hmmm." The girl chuckled. "Let me check the assignments and see if he's on shift or not." She stepped up to the terminal and looked for him on the control room schedule. "He's not on duty, so he could be anywhere."

"Do you know where would be typical?"

"The training room, or I guess his apartment."

"Let's start there," Melissa insisted. The girl looked annoyed and suspicious, but took her to the training room and then, after looking him up in the directory, to Four's apartment. Melissa knocked, waited, then knocked again. She ignored the throat-clearing behind her and finally heard movement towards the door.

"Four, good afternoon," she smiled.

"What do you want?" He looked past her at the girl behind her.

"If I could have a second of your time, just to discuss the security protocol updates you proposed? My supervisor sent me with some questions about the implementation of the camera system." Melissa's face contorted in obvious discomfort, telling the lie only well enough to save him any embarrassment.

Four raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking from her escort back to hers. He backed up and opened the door for her. "Okay, fine. But I got things to do today, so make it quick."

"Dear, if you could wait here? Authorized personnel only, you understand?" She dismissed the girl to wait in the hall and stepped into the apartment.

Four shut the door and stepped back to the laundry on his table. He selected a shirt, examined it, and then carefully folded it into a neat square before setting it into a duffel bag.

"Taking a trip?" she asked absently while she took in his apartment, instantly adding details to the puzzle in her head.

"Something like that. So, what are you doing here? I'm not your problem anymore," Four stated, his voice lowered. He found a hole in the neck of another t-shirt, and threw it into a different pile.

"Well, typically, when we hand off clients to other therapists, we check in to see if the transition went smoothly. But Carl informed me that you discontinued contact, and I wanted to understand why."

"I'm not interested in wasting anyone's time." She watched the agitation flow into his folding motions: the shirt getting slightly crumpled in the process and him pausing, shaking it back out, and starting over.

"What about it seemed like a waste?"

"I am what I am. There's no point in pretending otherwise." He held his usual defensive posture, but the freshness of the wound threatened to break him.

"What? Whether or not you want to change is in your power, Four."

"I already have tendencies and patterns and… a history of abusing people."

"And?"

"And we talked about my options. So I picked the one I can live with, I think."

"What options did he offer?" She furrowed her eyebrows and chewed the inside of her lip. He looked at her like her supervisor used to when she was a first year counselor. It was a mix of 'did you even go to school' and 'I can't believe we're having this conversation'. She hated that look. Melissa glowered, sitting in the chair across from him. "Tell me exactly what he said."

Four's posture started to reveal his shaken emotions. He let out an exasperated sigh, moving from shirts to pants. "Statistically, the chances that I can change are really small. That I'm going to end up… I'm already too far gone to help. That I should focus on removing myself from situations, get away from people–"

"No. Absolutely not," she interjected with a shake of her head, clearly angry. "That is an unacceptable response. I have counseled hundreds of people through anger management, and very few of them haven't had some improvement in their interpersonal relationships. And in those cases, it was largely due to their lack of effort. Being around people, being supported, that's the most important part of reforming behavior. If you want to change, you can change."

Four looked at her confused. "I'm going back outside. I've got contacts in Milwaukee. They should be able to get me my old job back."

"Four, avoiding your issues here doesn't mean they won't follow you there."

"Yeah, but I won't have to live with them nearly as long."

She paused, and decided to skip that comment to refocus him. "Four, do you want to change? Have a chance at making it work here, in Dauntless?"

He avoided her eyes, but muttered, "Yeah, but—"

"No buts," she interrupted before he could get to an excuse. "Why do you want to?"

"I don't want to be like him."

"Your father?"

"Yes."

"He was your abuser, right?"

"Yes."

"I must apologize. I only familiarized myself with the Erudite reports. Can you share with me the actual details of the abuse?"

"Melissa, I appreciate it, but Tris is your client."

"I think that needs to change, right now. I'm the only one that specializes in Anger Management; Carl is more of a family counselor. There are several options for Tris; I'll make sure she finds the right one."

He looked hesitant. "She's the priority, okay? She's taken care of first. She gets the help she needs."

"Okay. I promise, she'll be taken care of," she assured. "So, tell me about your father."

He kept his focus on the dwindling pile of clothes in front of him, took a deep breath, and started explaining with hesitant detail.

Melissa stomped off the train, rushed into Candor and peeled off down the hall, battering her way through the sticking door into Carl's office. "Tobias Eaton," she stated, out of breath.

"Yes?" He yawned, putting his pen down and closing his notebook.

"Your recommendation! He had clear indicators that, with the right therapy, he would be able to return to work."

"What can I say? Guard dogs, can't teach 'em new tricks," he sneered. "The guy's a menace. He's been abusing people for years, and with his family history it seemed cruel to encourage him. Did you even look at his Dauntless file? Even they almost threw him out a few years back. Can you imagine what it takes to be thrown out of Dauntless for being violent?"

She felt the blood rise up into her face with her increasing anger. "Carl, don't you think you should have consulted with me? Anger management is my expertise. I always come to you for the family counseling."

"If you thought he was so redeemable, why didn't you keep him on your client list?" Carl rolled his eyes. "Just one more menace out of the common space, as far as I'm concerned. Dauntless can deal with him, if they even want him."

"I'm going to have to report your behavior. This is unacceptable and violates our oath as therapists. We are here to help individuals realize their personal truths, not dismiss them."

"Go ahead, report me. He's the one that chose to cancel his appointments. I didn't have any other option but to default to the safest recommendation." He smiled.

"That's a half truth, and you know it. You led him to believe he had no reason to try." She slammed the door on her way out, fed up with Carl's excuses.

* * *

**The last chapter sparked some back and forth in the reviews that I want to address. Everyone gets to have an opinion and likewise everyone can judge eachotother's reviews. But doing so in reviews isn't really the point. I'm very tempted to turn off guest reviews so that anyone that wants to discuss their theories, thoughts, or comment has to do so using the PM system instead of the review box. So, please, if you're serious about arguing come off of guest and engage using a tool much better suited to fulfilling your purpose. I would also ask that reviewers with usernames likewise PM each other or me to discuss each other's reviews. If it continues, guest reviews will be turned off because I don't care what you think of each other, I just want your feedback on the story.**

**That being said, I love reviews, but I just don't care about the drama. Pop your thoughts (about the chapter) in the box below.**


	31. CH31: One, Two, Pop!

**Bringing back the old terminology: thanks to my Alpha Reader: Milner, my Beta Reader: BK2U.**

* * *

Tris tapped her foot in time with the second hand of the big clock; her appointment was scheduled to start ten minutes ago. Melissa rarely ran late, and even then, never more than a few minutes. She tentatively stepped up to the door, listening again to the murmurs inside to double-check that someone was actually in the office. She raised her hand, ready to knock, when the door opened.

"Tris." Melissa smiled, stepping out so that she had to step back, making room for another person to exit. She was surprised to see Tobias, red-eyed and, she swore, sniffling. He froze for a full second, shocked to be making eye contact with Tris, before darting out the door, his arms squeezing around his core.

"I thought he was seeing someone else," Tris stated, looking at the door long after it had clicked shut.

"Tris, we need to talk about the right options for both you and Tobias." Melissa ushered her in, the couch still warm where he'd obviously been sitting. "You recall how I mentioned that I specialize in the area which aligns best with Tobias's needs?"

"Yeah. But I thought you said that I needed continuity in my care."

"Well, I'm concerned that by moving him to another counselor, he didn't get the help he needed. There seemed to be a breakdown in communication. I want to reopen that discussion, and whether you'd be willing to try seeing another therapist?"

"Like, how would that go?"

"I would set up a series of compound sessions with me and the new therapist, and we would always include a discussion about the transition in the session. And then after two or three, when you're comfortable, you'd transfer to the new counselor full time. There are several that I think you would grow to trust and who share my outlook on addiction and depression."

"Is it what's best for Tobias?"

"I think it's the best option when trying to do the best by both of you."

"Okay. If you think it will help him, I'll change."

"Tris, it can't just be about him. This change has to work for you as well. So, I really need your honesty as we transition." Melissa smiled, and Tris nodded. "I've arranged for Cameron to join us today, so I'll give her a call. She really is well-versed in addiction, and has helped with many of the protocol 104 cases so far."

* * *

Four waited his turn in the hallway outside of the sim room. He tried not to think too hard about the wipes collecting on the chairs behind him: there were too many hard questions, all with uncomfortable answers. He couldn't help but wonder if their kids would have been better off if they'd picked execution instead of forgetting them entirely. Briefly, he also thought he'd have gladly been forgotten by Marcus. Maybe it was a blessing that they no longer had custody.

When the door finally cracked, all the heads snapped and a few people stood, eager to hear the next name. Tris rushed out, her face blotchy, but tears dried. She hugged herself and kept her eyes down. Tobias reached out instinctively to console her, grabbing her arm. She turned and faced him, her expression contorting as she whirled away from him and trotted out the door.

"Four," Amar called, skipping the next name on his list to keep him from going after her. "Get in here, now!" he emphasized when he saw Four's hesitation.

"Amar," he complained, the door latching behind him.

"Leave her be."

"She had it again?"

"Landscapes are confidential," Amar stated, preparing a syringe and briskly moving on. "I was about to send you to the landscape just before you left, so one more shot here and then you're going. Wednesday's the next test day."

"Fine." He settled into the chair.

"She's going to be there, too. Just so you know."

"Doesn't look ready." He removed his jacket, relaxing back against the headrest.

"She'll do her loyalty test, not the landscape. There aren't many of you types left, so they're trying to combine it. Turn your head." Four complied, giving him access, and disappeared into his sim. He was out of practice, but he got an easier one: falling backwards off a building.

He caught his breath while Amar made notes, his time back down where it should be. "You're definitely ready. But, do you remember the strategy with the beating?"

"Breathe through it, focus on another memory."

"An opposite memory," Amar suggested. "I think you'll do fine."

"And then I'm in?"

"Well, I guess. I mean, as long as your times in the training room are still good, yeah."

"And where is she? I mean, out of curiosity, not that I care…"

"Four, she's hovering around marginally acceptable. Some days she's passing. Some days she's not." Amar warned. "I've argued about her shoulder, and I think I have Fiona on our side, but Harrison pulls out his damned rule book and then the new members in leadership seem split. So now he wants to get all the special cases kicked out to be fair."

"What?"

"I don't think it'll happen, not with who got elected. There's too many injuries to just kick out a quarter of the faction. But you never know what they do behind closed doors. I think it's more that she won't shoot a gun. That's a non-starter."

"Really?"

"I tried, Zeke tried, George tried. Even with Christina she breaks down and gets the shakes, throws up. It's a mess. We can't even get her into the range, so you should prepare yourself. After the loyalty test she'll have a month to get up to speed on the drills, and it doesn't look good."

"And there's no other options?"

"I've tried almost everything I can think of."

"What's almost?"

"I mean, maybe if you tried. You were her instructor, and you certainly know her better than anyone. Maybe she'd respond to you. You got her to shoot at the Bureau, right?"

"Yeah. I guess I could try, but you saw her. I'm the last person she wants to be around. And I really shouldn't be around her."

"She's not usually that rough. She didn't take the time to calm herself down. I wouldn't read much into it."

* * *

Four combed the training room for Tris, hoping to find her, to see if she would even let him near enough to offer to help. It was the least he could do for her, to repay her for switching therapists and giving him some chance at dealing with his issues. He tried to mouth his request, but Zeke shrugged from across the room, coming over to talk with him. "You see Tris lately?" Four asked, again.

His nerves must have been showing because Zeke smiled broadly, his eyebrow twitching up suggestively. "No, why?"

"I just... Amar wants me to talk with her about shooting. You know, see if I can train her up."

"So, I guess making her quit isn't on the table anymore?"

Four shrugged. "If she wants in, then I'm not going to stop it."

"But training her?"

"She'll end up in drills eventually," he said with as little emotion as possible, making it seem like a purely practical response.

"Okay, fair enough." Zeke tried to play along, but couldn't keep his grin from growing, nor tone down the subtle, excited shake in his body.

"Anyway... you see her? She was pretty upset after her sim."

"Didn't come this way. She knows the rules, though, can't be by herself, so she's probably over at the infirmary waiting for an escort home or for Christina to get back from patrols." Four nodded, tucked his hands in his pockets, and headed in that direction, consciously trying to move at a normal pace before giving up and stretching his strides as soon as he was out of Zeke's line of sight.

His offer had two potential outcomes, and letting himself think them over would only add to his anxiety. He was determined to address Amar's idea as quickly as possible, before he lost his nerve.

Tris was reading a book. It looked heavy and somewhat clinical with its cloth binding – the kind with embossed gold lettering on the spine. The weight of it and the years of wear kept it open to the page she was on. Tris balanced it on her thighs and kept her arms wrapped around her core, rocking herself slightly back and forth with the tip of her toe. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the subtle, dried tear streaks on her cheeks were highlighted by the lighting and the angle from the door.

He tried to keep his voice quiet, to avoid startling her. "Tris?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed, preparing herself before she looked up. Four had to blink a few times as he reconciled her defeated look as the exact same one he saw in his landscape. He took the seat across from her.

"Um, I've been thinking," he started, "And, if you're sure you want back in because _you_ want in, then I'm not going to stop you. And when you're back, eventually, you'll have to run through drills. So if I'm here and you're here, we have to figure something out."

"Yeah, okay." She gave him the slightest lift in the corners of her mouth.

"Amar says you're having trouble shooting. It's too much for you?" She didn't answer, just closed the book and wiped her hands on her pants before locking eyes with him, like she was waiting for his ridicule. "He asked if I could… Do you want me to work with you on it? I mean, I have some ideas that might help."

"What kind of ideas?"

"What are you doing right now?"

"Waiting for Christina to go home."

"Okay, when do you usually go home?"

"About nine."

"Alright, come on." He stood abruptly and started leading her down the hallway, not giving her a chance to object.

Tris could feel the bile building in her stomach as her anxiety ratcheted up her pulse. Sweat seemingly dripped out of the pores of her hands, and her bag felt twice as heavy as it actually was. Tobias passed the hallway to the training center, instead entering the stairwell to the residential section.

"Where are we going?"

"To my apartment," he commented, hearing a pause in her footsteps. "I just need to grab a few things. You don't have to come in."

He collected the scattered bits and extra rags into a towel and folded them together, returning to her in the hall. Four led her down to a common area usually reserved for card games and ping-pong. He pulled up a chair for her, next to one that he quickly claimed, and unfolded the towel on the table.

Tris hovered, her hand over her mouth and nose, her fingers shaking. Four's eyes were on the task at hand: sorting the pieces back into their respective piles.

"So, I have four guns, all taken apart, all needing a cleaning. This is my Beretta, my favorite. Here's another Beretta that needs some parts, but I gotta clean it up first to see which ones. And these two are standard Dauntless issue, like the ones down in the weapons cage. Both are jammed up pretty bad, but I don't think they're actually broken. They got picked out of the mud when they were cleaning up the city. All these guns have been sent to us to store."

"Okay," she barely squeaked out, staring at them like they might attack.

"Nothing's loaded, there are no bullets, and these three don't even fire," he explained. Four picked up a cleaning cloth and some gun oil, and started describing the different pieces and the methods used to remove the gummed up grime that clung to the barrels and the rust that locked the mechanics. Tris's reaction spread to include the rhythmic motion of her jaw as she chewed her lip, and shallow breaths that increased in frequency.

"What is it?" Four stopped, exasperated, and set the rag down. "None of this can hurt you."

"That smell…" Tears spilled over her lower lids. Her voice wavered, muffled behind her shaking hand. "That's the last thing I smelled. On my hands, in the air. All around me. That horrible smell and then the blood, all the…" She jumped when his hand found her arm just behind her elbow, stroking her soft skin.

"Okay. Let's just sit and focus on relaxing. We'll start with the smell." He pulled her elbow with careful, slow tugs, her body rigidly resisting before bending with a snap.

She used the excuse to scoot away from the table. "I don't want to be here," she stammered, rubbing her arms to ward off the sinking cold feeling from her memory.

His hand fell to her knee, the warmth soothing her slightly. "It's part of being in Dauntless. You have to shoot. Is this what you're going to let stop you?" She contemplated then shook her head slowly and took a deeper breath.

He thought about them being smothered together in the shrinking box. How she'd tried to distract him to bring him back under control. "Think of something else. Talk about something else. Just let this sit here in the background."

"So, how is this supposed to help?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe seeing them in pieces, learning about how they work, I guess even smelling them might reset some of your memories. You know, to something not as bleak as what we went through. And then we can put all the pieces that work together, and later, we can go test them out. You can have one of the common issues." He shrugged.

"Why do you have the Berettas?"

"Antiques like these, they're made of steel, not the lightweight composites we have now. They're heavier. They feel more like a tool and less like a toy when I hold one."

"Are they hard to fix?"

"It's hard to find parts, but I'm getting better at making them. That's what I'm doing with this one; it works, so I'm taking it apart and trying to duplicate the pieces in the machine shop so that I can get this one working," he said, pointing between the piles.

"Why do you need two?"

"I don't, not here in Dauntless. I guess I like fixing things. I like the challenge of it."

"Is that why you're doing this? To fix me?"

"Why do you want to stay in Dauntless?" he diverted.

"It's the only place I've ever felt free," she admitted. "It was only for a second, but it was a good second." The way she looked at him then, with a bashful smile, he quickly retracted his hand from her knee. The guilt of giving her hope crushed in his chest. She needed Dauntless, a family that would look after her. And he needed her in safe hands when everything melted down and he'd have to leave. He counted to three, recovered control of his lungs and moved on.

"Okay, so are you going to let some smell control you?"

"No."

He slid a barrel and a cloth towards her. "Then get cleaning."

Tris inched her way forward into the chair, taking long, deep breaths before setting her fingertips on the cold metal. She could feel the divots and scrapes. Each little line had some story, some action that brought it into existence, just like each nick and near miss had brought her to that table, unable to breathe comfortably. She eventually relaxed into the methods he showed her, realizing they were only pieces that couldn't harm her, and occasionally asked him questions. He didn't hesitate to answer until she veered off the topic of guns.

"So, if you don't want me to quit, how do I make amends?"

Four set his gun down. "You don't need to."

"No, I do. It's a requirement of my program. To make amends, ask forgiveness, forgive myself."

"I already forgave you. So cross it off your list." He smiled quickly, starting to lay out the little pieces so he could reconstruct the weapon.

"You forgive me for everything? Even what I said? What I did?"

"You know as well as I do that there's nothing to forgive when someone speaks the truth." His façade cracked just for a moment, just enough that she could see the shame cross his face.

"But it's not true. It was just something hurtful I could say. I said it _just_ to hurt you."

"No, you didn't. You've always seen me better than anyone, Tris. You know what I am, and you know what that leads to. You were right, I was the one fooling myself. I hurt people, and I'll keep hurting people, and eventually I would have hurt you."

"No, not like him. Not like you were hurt."

"It's called an abuse cycle. The victim grows up angry and sad and full of desire to be better, but in the end, I'll be just as cruel and irrational as he was. And then, I'll be nothing more than ashes scattered in the chasm."

She glared at him. "Don't talk like that."

"Why? You know it's the truth." He shot a look at her, effectively ending their conversation.

They finished putting the guns back together in silence. Tris examined him at every opportunity, wondering where his thoughts were coming from, while Four was stoic behind his mask, wishing she'd stop.

"So, tomorrow, we go to the range, okay?" he asked, checking his watch. "Train's here in thirty. I'll walk you back to the infirmary to wait."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, Tris. I'm not the weapons locker, I only have so many," he dismissed, gathering his things and leading the way back.

Four sought her out in the training room again, and found her watching the soccer game from the sideline, dripping with sweat and panting. She was smiling, her shirt clinging to her back and her hands on her hips – she had tried to run out her anxiety, knowing he'd eventually find her. Her face dropped when she noticed him approaching, dread setting in. Four stood in front of her, two guns in his bag and nodded for her to follow him. This time her anxiety started with the audible pops behind the heavy door. She slowed her pace, hoping to stall the inevitable. Four stood behind her when they entered the range together, blocking her exit, and handed her a pair of ear defenders.

She recoiled at the first bang of the nearest gun and backed up against him. "Tris, just wait. Give it a second." He pushed her back away from him and put a hand on her shoulder to hold her steady. "We're just watching, okay? You and me, right here, not any closer."

The noise was too much for her to remove the muffling cups that pinched her ears. Without a steady conversation, she was left with the echoing doubts of her own mind, worrying what would happen when his hand wasn't holding her in place. Despite how much his shoulder cramped or his fingers ached for better circulation, he anchored her through every jolting reaction, hoping that the tremors that coursed through her in response to the resonating blasts would settle and disappear.

Four had to stay focused: dozens of eyes were on them, some waiting in excited anticipation like Christina and Zeke, while others were judging either from confusion or inconvenience. Four worked up his resolve to follow through with the plan; he knew the next step would take a lot of affection on his part to reassure her. She'd need him close to her, steady and unmoving. Selfishly, he wanted her to need him. He hated himself for giving in so easily, for constructing the excuse to be near her. Four gave in to his weakness easily, allowing his selfishness to take hold. Depending on how many times it took in the range, each one might be the last time he'd ever be so close to her. He'd pulled the packed bag from under his bed every morning to remind himself of the most likely outcome, despite Melissa's assurances.

Amar was reading their body language, seeing the determination in Four's straightforward motions contrasting with her shoulders being up at her ears, his touch soothing her with each stroke. He ended up intercepting Harrison: Four couldn't hear them through the glass of the heavy door, but Amar was standing like a wall between him and the range. Harrison stepped back, red in the face and challenging, mouthing back something he couldn't make out. Four assumed the potential close contact between him and Tris was the heart of the disagreement, or maybe the special treatment in taking over the range.

When she shook and started to pull away, Four's attention came back to her, closing her in with the steady force of his arm around her back. His fingers curled around her ribcage and gently pressed her deeper into the range. All the members he had kicked out impatiently watched through the glass, embarrassing her and making her wilt. He hoped ignoring her reactions would limit the impact of feeling exposed.

Four set the two guns on the counter, the box of ammunition next to them. He pulled her ear defenders off her head along with the ones on his forearm and set them down, retreating to get two pairs of safety glasses. Tris hugged the partition that separated the lanes trying to deepen her breaths, giving him a weak smile when he returned. Four pulled back the slide to expose the empty chamber, and popped out the empty magazine to show Tris that the gun was unloaded before repeating the motions on the second gun.

"Alright, so both are unloaded. Pick one." He tried to tone down the instructor's edge in his voice, but still held firm.

Fingers shaking, her hand hovered over the standard issue and then wrapped around the handle.

"Hold it right," he insisted, pushing her arms out in front of her, getting her to wrap both hands around it. "Stand like you should." He used his foot to nudge one leg back and distribute her weight. His hands rested on her hips, centering her for a moment. "Now just breathe for a minute."

He stroked up and down her spine with the backs of his fingers, one hand moving up while the other moved down. He'd done something similar on her bare skin once, on a couch from what felt like a lifetime ago. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the knit of her shirt instead.

When Tris's chest stopped heaving and settled into a fast but more normal rhythm, he took the gun out of her hands and pulled back the slide to cock the weapon. Standing slightly to her side, he put his left hand over hers as she held it and insisted, "Take three breaths, counting each one, and on the third, pull the trigger."

He intentionally let the rise and fall of his chest press against her back to guide her breathing. His right hand pressed down on her shoulder while he counted in her ear: on three her arms shook, but nothing happened. He gave her a moment and counted again; she squeezed the trigger, releasing the mechanics, the snap echoing in the silent space.

"Good. Again." He pulled back the action and walked her through the motions, each repetition less shaky than the last, before instructing her to pull the slide herself.

"Now, with a bullet." He loaded three rounds into the magazine and held it out to her. She nodded, fumbling as she tried to align the pieces, his hands coming in to steady her. His breath mingled into the overwhelming smell of gunpowder and smoke that had long settled as residue on the walls.

Four then put the defenders on her ears and the glasses on her face before applying his own. He lifted her hands out in front of her, his right arm around her back, gripping her hip. His left hand supported her elbow before sliding up under the butt of the gun, gripping her wrist. His long fingers covered hers, making the gun look small.

"Count to three, and pull the trigger. There are three rounds; you should shoot each one." Tris nodded, trying to keep her arms steady.

One. Two. Pop!

She hesitated, nearly dropping her arms. He put his left hand on her stomach and she felt his lips on her shoulder, the moisture in his breath dampening her skin.

One. Two. Pop!

His arms tightened around her middle.

One. Two. Pop!

Tris drooped into him, setting the gun down on the counter, everything about her shivering and spent. His arms finished encircling her, holding her up and calming her quaking muscles. He steadied her while she smelled the burnt air and felt the vibration dissipate from her fingers.

"Okay. Good work." He let himself smile, to congratulate her.

Tris twisted and pushed her arms around him, squeezing into him. He smoothed her hair, pulling off the defenders while he waited for her to release him. Four finally set them down, encompassing her shoulders with his arms. He briefly recalled how similar it felt to holding her on the train ride to Amity, when the grief of that first day of the war was just settling in.

Four tried to fight the feeling of satisfaction at the comfort he could provide Tris, and the warm sensation of his first physical contact in days. He reminded himself how few and far between hugs would be, then forced himself to recall her bruised and lifeless body from his sims. He pushed the image into the forefront of his mind to keep himself from kissing her head or doing anything more than simply reassuring her. He needed to keep himself from getting too attached to feeling wanted, or feeling anything more than disgusted with himself. When her grip loosened, he pulled her arms away from him and pushed her to the door, taking in a deep breath to hold himself together.

* * *

**Reviews are welcomed when they address the content of the chapter. Guest reviews, or any review which attacks another reviewer (even at the 'defense' of the chapter or story) will be removed - so be civil and stay focused on what you liked/disliked or other feelings you have about the story. Thanks!**

**Also, Milner's new story Make it Rain is like the bee's knees and you should go catch up. Really, if you like this, you'll love it.**


	32. CH32: Nightly Routines

**Many thanks to Alpha reader and life coach Ms. Milner and Beta reader and grammar enforcer BK2U.**

* * *

There were multiple methods to avoiding crossing paths. Between switching his shifts in both maintenance and the control room, working out early and taking meals in his apartment he'd given her the slip for a few days. But inevitably, Tris was waiting for him just outside the men's locker room, her arms crossed and her smile subdued. He evaluated her, his face hard and unyielding. He'd long been a fan of mantras, statements that reminded him of his purpose. In initiation, he'd told himself that he had to make them believe he belonged. That first year, he had repeated over and over that he had earned the right to exist there. When Tris first fell into his life, he'd reminded himself that she'd never make it. And now, knowing she was safer without him, he told himself that she was merely another member, just like the other dozens of women in the faction. He was simply their drill instructor, and that boundary needed to be observed.

"Yes, Tris?" he asked curtly.

"I thought maybe we could shoot?" She gave him a hopeful smile, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Not today, or at least not 'til after soccer." He walked past her, joining Rafael and the rest of the guys waiting for a game.

She checked in on the game periodically, but not enough to notice that the first match was long over and Four was busy exhausting himself, trying to keep up in the second game to prevent their interaction. His mind slipped into a new statement as he ran back and forth: it's the right thing to do.

He continued to rebuff her the next day, stating that he'd make time on Thursday if he didn't get the late shift again. And while he meant what he said, part of him knew it was a bad idea to let himself be that close to her, to lead her on. Each time he pushed her away, Tris felt smaller in his presence, more insignificant to him. And he felt both justified for his actions and cruel for putting the hurt into her eyes, like he was helpless to change it.

* * *

Four stood at one side of the elevator, his arms crossed and his face set in a hard scowl as she tentatively slid in and leaned against the wall. He punched the button to take them all the way up to the floor just below the roof. With all the affection he had shown her when they were cleaning his guns and shooting, she thought he'd come around. But the stark contrast with his demeanor in the days following read more like disdain.

"You nervous?" he asked, breaking the tenuous silence.

"A little. You?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"You're not going to be there, right?" She bit the nails on her right hand.

"No. And neither are you." He gave her a quick smile.

The elevator lurched to a stop, the marker only indicating the fifth floor. They stared at the doors, but they remained shut. Four sighed and tapped the button twice, but the car wasn't moving.

"Shit." He looked at the solid walls all around them and pulled out a knife, setting to work on removing the control panel bolts.

Tris decided she would take advantage of the solitude to confront him. "You know, in Dauntless no one cares how many people you've slept with."

"Yeah, I know," he placated, still struggling to get purchase on one of the bolts.

"I know you're still very Abnegation about some things," she started, her voice twisting and becoming hoarse, "But is there anything I can say that'll make me close to what you want again? I can't erase the past or anything, but something?" She hated the weakness, the insecurity that bled through.

Tobias prickled, looking at her with a quizzical shift in his eyebrows. "Tris, what are you talking about?"

"I'm so sorry for what I did. I thought you forgave me. I shouldn't have ever been with him."

He shook his head his fist clenching the knife. "You didn't do anything. That prick —" He had to stop himself before he lost control.

"It wasn't like my sim, you know… I kissed him first. It was my idea." She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "I just wanted someone to hold me again," she explained wistfully.

Four stopped, turning to face her. "When you told him to stop, that's when it stopped being your idea. And he'll rot in Hell for what he did to you. You did nothing wrong, Tris. You never did anything wrong."

She nodded, feeling the urge to submit, to accept it, but she wanted to finally know the source of his distance. "Then is it the scars? Am I that disgusting that you can't even hug me anymore? Maybe they can fix them, make them go away…"

He blinked fast, absorbing her words. "Tris…" He immediately made the stride to be in front of her, his hands on the tops of her arms. "You're anything but disgusting to me. I… I just, I can't be near you. It's not safe. And it's just too hard trying to, you know, be friends." She started to break down; he wanted to wrap her up, squeeze his arms around her tightly, but he just moved closer. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to lead you on. I can't let myself be selfish with you. You're too important."

Tris was overcome by his proximity and forced her arms around him, feeling his heavy sigh as he relented and held her. Her short-lived sense of relief ended with a gentle reminder. "I shouldn't be doing this." He separated them, but Tris forced her fingers between his and held his wrist with her other hand.

"This isn't just your decision," she sniffled.

"Yeah, okay. We'll talk about it. But I need my hand to get this thing started." He shook her off as gently as he could, returning to pry off the control panel.

"You won't hurt me," she stated, hovering next to him.

"You can't see the future."

"And neither can you."

"Yeah, well, there's studies and, you know, statistics. More your thing than mine, anyways," he murmured.

"Statistics that say with one hundred percent certainty that you'll hurt me?" she challenged.

"Tris, it's too late for me. I'm already a monster. It's just about controlling the damage I do now."

"No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am!" He raised his voice, turning as he shouted so she could see the red in his face.

He refocused his glare on the task at hand while Tris stepped back into the corner and waited for the box to move. He pulled off the panel and exposed a rat's nest, complete with squeaking babies, chewed-through wires, and one dead mother rat. "Chewed your last wire, little devil." He grabbed the body by the tail and set it on the floor, carefully working around the babies to find a safe way to grip the severed wires. Four held them together, shying away from the arcing spark, but holding steady until the elevator reached the floor and the doors opened.

Tris surged out, putting distance between them. Four repeated under his breath, "It's better this way. She's better off," then resigned himself to sitting on the floor outside the landscape room, waiting for her loyalty check to complete. While he reminded himself that the pain in keeping his distance would subside and get easier, he felt mildly reassured when she didn't look at him on her way to the stairs. Fiona leaned out the doorway and motioned him in.

* * *

"What have you been doing?" Christina challenged just outside the equipment room.

"Cleaning punching bags," Four offered, in no mood to be confronted. His thoughts were still fixated on the horrified looks from leadership as he exited his landscape.

"Earlier in the week she was all bubbly, saying that you were finally opening up to her and that you seemed like you wanted to get back together. Then today she said she hoped she failed the loyalty test."

"Look, I had to be that way with her to get her comfortable shooting. She needs to shoot to get back in. And I never said we'd get back together."

"But you were so… nice to her."

"Just because we're not together doesn't mean I don't want her to get what she wants. She wants in, then I'll help her get in."

"But you don't want to be with her?" Four took a deep breath and refused to answer. "You can't jerk her around like this. You can't get her hopes up that you've forgiven her, and then hold it all against her."

"I'm not holding anything against her. Believe it or not, I'm protecting her. She shouldn't be with someone that scares her."

"Then don't scare her."

"Christina, it's none of your business. Just stay out of it." He pushed past her with a box of towels for the equipment section.

"Oh, no. I'm in this. You're not the one that's tethered to her. I practically live with her. I have to get her to work, get her here, get her back home. I make sure she eats in the morning and gets dinner at night. I'm putting in all the work to keep her on track. This is my business."

Four eyed her and bit his tongue until the box was settled and he was able to pull her back into a more private area. "She's afraid of me because I've hurt people. It's what I do. I get mad and I lose it. I've come so close to hurting her. Seconds away from it, Chris. I can't…" He paused, overcome by a well of emotion. "She's better off if I just keep my distance. If it's too hard for her, then I'll leave."

"Is this what you're learning from therapy? To give up?"

"Therapy?" he scoffed, panicking. "I'm not–"

"Damned near living with her, remember? She told me about the reassignment."

He sighed. "Johanna just wants me to jump through some hoops. It's a formality."

"No, she wants you to get it under control. So if you want Tris, why can't you get it together for her?"

Four hadn't felt like he had been making any progress in the sessions. Melissa was demanding more and more details, more examples, more discussions. She wanted him to keep track of the times when he lost his temper, and the tally was daunting. The more they talked, the less sure he was that he'd ever beat the statistics. He eyed Christina sternly before walking past her out to the training room.

"Christina!" Tris admonished, approaching with a look of hurt on her face. "What are you doing? What did you tell him?"

"Oh, cool it. I didn't tell him anything. I was just mining information." She pulled her closer.

"You told me that you wouldn't say anything."

"Look, it's something Zeke said before, and something Four said just now. He's not really mad at you, he's afraid he's going to hurt you." She smiled, broadly. Tris glared back, still put off by the break in confidence. "Come on, that's better than him being mad at you."

"Chris, I already knew that."

"Oh, but don't you see? That's a thousand times easier than if he was mad at you, or that Abnegation foolishness you were talking about."

"Yeah, super easy. He won't come within fifteen yards of me." Tris slumped.

"But imagine how hard that is for him, blaming himself for not working things out. Now, when he was a little drunk, he couldn't seem to help himself, even when he was mad at you."

"What do you mean?"

"He took you home after that dinner with Amar, right?"

"Reluctantly."

"But he did it. And then you talked and things seemed to get back on track."

"So?"

"Well, Amar's hosting dinner again on Sunday and he said Four would be there… Maybe your escort home gets a little too drunk to catch a train?"

"And if he's also too drunk? Or he says no?"

"Then I'm sure Ro would take you." Christina's eyes opened wider. "Four's the jealous type. You spend all night talking with Ro, you'll get him on that train."

"Ro? He's a friend, Christina. I'm sure Four's not jealous of friends." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, he's your friend because you don't know what flirting looks like." Christina patted her on the shoulder, starting to lead the way to the range. "Just think about it. Ro's a good backup plan, and he's certainly been super patient with you. Maybe it'll take your mind off of shooting, thinking about that possibility."

Tris followed her, arms crossed, but determined. She focused on Ro and Tobias, and if Ro really liked her like Christina said he did: it was somewhat helpful up until Christina opened the door and she heard the first pop. Then the only thing that helped was to imagine Christina's slender arms were broader and stronger when she pulled her into the room.

Four was momentarily shocked, then pleased, when he saw Christina and Tris in the shooting range. Tris was standing behind Christina, practicing some breathing techniques and working up her courage to shoot. It was a good sign that she'd be able to work on her own, make it without his help. And he no longer had any excuse to get close to her; although a little sad, he knew it was the right thing to do.

He forced himself to skip his planned training and ran outside instead. He was trying hard to convince himself that he still liked the solitude of being a loner, that the nearly three years of being in Dauntless was a nice break, but that they didn't change who he had been for the previous sixteen. But no matter how hard he tried to assure himself that he could slip back into isolation, part of him knew he'd changed the second he chose the coals over the stones.

* * *

Amar's Sunday dinner was more of a banquet than the typical casual gathering. Four had passed his landscape, they knew that on Wednesday, but by late Friday, after a lengthy and careful discussion, the leadership had informed Amar that Tris had passed her loyalty test. Four questioned if she had to manipulate her responses to do so, or if the long delay was because some answers didn't match.

Amar opened up the invite list, asking Tris who she'd like to have there. She smiled with a blush and requested a few of the guys that had been helping her in the training room, like Ro and Jason and Derrick. It was also Four's first Sunday back from the fence that he wasn't locked up in the control room, and he was both pleased and embarrassed by all the handshakes and comments he received. The apartment didn't seem big enough for the bodies that were churning through the door.

Four took his usual position, doing whatever Amar and George commanded him to do in the kitchen. The threshold of noise had been crossed so that the small space between the cabinets and the stove felt like an isolated sanctuary, their conversation below audible in comparison to the swarm settling around the table and piling onto the couch.

"So, you've been back a while," Amar started, "Have you and Tris talked? And I mean actually talked, not just playing with guns."

"A little."

"And?"

"And… we're not together. I figured that was obvious."

"So you're both on the same page? Like, how now's not the best time for either of you." Amar smiled kindly. "You know why I'm asking. You have plenty of time to figure things out with girls. There's no rush, no reason to settle down. It's not really the Dauntless way."

"Yeah, moth and flames, right? Don't worry, I won't get burned again." Four tried to sound cheerful, while feeling crushed.

Dinner was delicious. The tomatoes from Amity started to show up fresh and ripe in the commissary downstairs, and George's favorite big-gathering meal was homemade spaghetti sauce. A few extra bottles of liquor had been deposited by guests, and the drinks became a little excessive. Christina, in particular, threw back more than she should have while glaring at Lauren and Rafael. Even Derrick noted her obvious disgruntled nature. He knew it would work in his favor, though, as she overtly lavished affection on him; it all but guaranteed he would be taking her home with him.

Without any hesitation, Ro had taken up Tris's attention, proving to her what Christina had alleged. With her eyes opened to the possibility, Tris hoped she wasn't reading more into his conversations, his posture, the way his hand would find her arm or her back. She'd figured that Dauntless boys would come right out and ask, be bold, but Ro was smart enough to recognize her pace. Rather than brashly demanding and pestering her for a date, he'd been spending weeks gaining her trust and learning about her, sharing about himself. Part of her was tempted to try and flirt back, to explore him in a different way. But every time she thought about shifting closer or touching back, Four was in her peripheral line of sight, and she'd wish she could swap them.

Four had tried not to stare, tried not to watch, but convincing himself that Tris would be better with someone else was easier when it wasn't in his face. He kept to Lauren and Rafael, ignoring the rest of the conversations until the crowd started to thin and he could hear her laugh. He retreated into the kitchen to clean, helping himself to a few drinks as he worked.

Christina slurred her words as she turned off the alarm on her watch. She swayed on Derrick's lap and her eyes couldn't focus – there was no way she'd be jumping the train back into the city. Tris, however, had work in the morning. With the restrictions still in place, she needed an escort to her apartment, someone who was willing to walk back or stay on her couch. Christina's plan had never really been agreed upon, and Tris wondered if it was intentional that she was now looking from face to face, wondering if she'd have to stay at Dauntless and be late to work.

Ro volunteered with a quick and blushing smile, hope written in his brown eyes. She glanced around, quickly, then nodded. But it was a slightly intoxicated Four who finished his drink quickly and stepped up to the pile of shoes after her, cutting Ro off. Jason shrugged next to Ro, reminding him he had early patrol anyway. Amar and George exchanged a glance while Ro let out a quick jab that was lost in the noise of goodbyes.

After three quick drinks between soaking and scrubbing dishes, Four had given up trying to avoid looking at her, even when Amar called him out about staring. And when she looked back at him, his inhibitions were too thin to keep him from smiling. Four easily pulled himself up behind her on the train, and they both sat with a respectful distance between them on the wooden bench.

"Congratulations, I guess you're back in." Tris smiled quickly before letting her lips relax back into a neutral state.

"I haven't officially done the drills, but I'm not far off." He shrugged.

"You'll be fine." She watched him pick dirt out from under his nails, his thin frame no larger than before he left for the fence. She wondered if he was staying leaner on purpose, if it gave him some sort of advantage.

"Thanks for switching with me, you know, for Melissa." He stated it quietly, not looking up.

"She said it was the best thing for you."

"I don't know. She seems to think I have a chance at getting better control over what I am."

"Then it's worth trying, and I hope it works for you. Has it helped at all?"

"A bit, I think. But if it doesn't for you, and you need to switch back, we should. You staying healthy is really important."

"You're just as important as I am." She reached out and carefully stroked the backside of his hand, ready to flinch away if he shouted at her again.

"You're delusional," he laughed, pulling his hand away and rubbing his eyes.

"Why wouldn't you be? You mean a lot to people. Zeke, Amar, George, me…"

"And you're all just hovering around a time bomb." The alcohol in his blood allowed him to laugh in an unsettling, slightly crazed way.

"Why do you say that? What makes you any different now than before? Amar said you were a little wild and unpredictable when you first joined, and you got a handle on it."

"That was before I knew what I was… What I'm capable of."

She raised her voice, frustrated. "What? Delivering a beating? You knew that before."

"I can kill people, Tris! I can kill them with just my hands. And the only thing I felt afterward, was that I didn't want to get caught."

"You can, or you did?"

"I did," he admitted, letting out a breath. "The monster came out and I killed a man. Then I rolled him into the river so no one would know." He hoped his fixed stare would scare her, maybe sever the last remnants of what held her to him.

"No…" She shook her head. "You had to have a reason."

Four held out his arm, the scar towards her. "He came at me, with a knife."

"Self-defense."

"Tris, I'm a soldier, I'm a fighter. He was a thief. I took him down and I had him pinned, and I squeezed the air out of him and watched his eyes go red and his arms were beating at me. I thought about letting him up, but I didn't. I just kept pressing." He broke eye contact. "That's what a monster does. That's what he did all those times, beat me 'til I was bloody. He knew I got the point, but he didn't stop. And I didn't even realize it until last week, but I don't regret it, not one bit. I can justify it a million ways in my head. He deserved it. It made everyone safer. He would have tried again…"

"You do regret it. You're acting like you don't, but you do. I can tell it's tearing you up or you wouldn't be thinking about it," Tris stated clearly.

"Anyways. No one really wants that at their dinner party," he scoffed. "Even being here with you right now, it's a stupid, selfish risk."

"You won't hurt me." She reached out and forced her hand into his. "Besides, I can take you. You're drunk."

Four chuckled, letting her hand stay within his, feeling less alone in one moment, and gluttonous in his selfishness the next. When the train slowed to a stop, Tris pulled him up and led him to her building door, tugging him past his hesitation into the elevator, and pulling out her key when she found the door locked.

"Okay, so you're home." Four separated his hand from hers and started to back up.

"Tobias, you should stay."

"Nah, I'll walk it."

"You're drunk, it's late, and you're tired."

"Tris, don't make this harder."

"At least get some water first, okay? Hydrate." She pulled him inside and pushed him into their seating area. Four eased into the arm chair, avoiding the couch and its potential. She brought him a glass and sat on the couch with her own, propping her toes up on the edge of his seat.

"So, Zeke and Shauna?" Tris asked, seeing the sleepiness in his eyes and hoping to soothe him into staying.

"What about them?" After one sip, he realized how thirsty he was, gulping the remainder.

"Zeke is pretty tight-lipped about it around me, so I was just curious if things were going better."

"Seem to be. He was with her family tonight, so that's a good sign." Four leaned forward, setting the glass on the little table in front of him, and started to edge his way towards standing.

"And the procedure?" Tris asked, interrupting his motion.

"I don't know, hasn't said one way or the other. I've seen Shauna a couple times, but she was still in the chair and we didn't talk about it."

When he shifted back into his seat, his left hand fell onto her foot. Immediately, his eyes dropped and his fingertips spread out across the smooth skin, inching their way up to her ankle. Tris bit her lip, watching his morose expression. His eyes followed his fingers up under her pants along her calf. His hand slid back down and circled around her lower leg; he smirked at the crisp prickles of stubble that tickled his palm.

"Just stay here tonight. You can catch the train in the morning."

"On the couch," he stated, his hand steady on her leg, his gaze still fixated.

"On the couch," she confirmed, reluctantly stepping away to get him another glass of water before pulling a blanket out of the hall closet and a pillow from her bed.

Caleb glanced out his room, seeing her shuffle in the hallway and came to stand in the doorway. "Guest?" he asked, weary and tired.

"It's late. He's a little drunk. He shouldn't be walking home like he is," she stated simply, carrying the bedding over to where Four was still sitting, eyes closed in the chair.

She set the pillow at one end and unfolded the blanket, softly rubbing his shoulder until his sleep-filled eyes opened. He leaned forward, his forehead against her stomach as he dragged his hands up the back of her legs. Tris let her hands slide through his hair, feeling the contented moan in his throat when her fingertips hit his neck. Tris heard Caleb's door click shut, and persuaded Four onto the couch, unlacing his boots and pulling each one off for him when it was clear he was already half-asleep.

Soundless, dreamless sleep was seldom a possibility for Tris. Regardless of the embarrassment or the weakness on display, she couldn't control repeating her usual cycle: reliving the death of her mother as the hail of bullets froze her out of reach, and the usual shrieking call that shook her out of sleep and into reality. In keeping with practice, Caleb stepped out of her room, poured her a glass of water and wet a washcloth before turning back, completely thrown off his routine when he turned and found an alarmed Four standing in his path.

"It's okay. She's okay. Just go back to sleep," Caleb murmured, pushing past him.

Four glanced after him into the room, watching Caleb cross around the foot of the empty bed and into the corner under the window. His voice was low as he crouched on the floor, discussing something as softly as he could with Tris before glancing over his shoulder reproachfully. When Tris had finally calmed, she moved to the bed and drank some of the water. Caleb ran his hand down her arm before heading back to his room.

"Four, it's okay. Seriously, just go to sleep, we do this every night."

Four stepped back towards the couch, feigning his intentions to follow directions until Caleb shut his door. He counted to twenty then stepped as softly as possible back to her doorway. She hadn't moved from her perch on the edge of her mattress. He entered, shut the door softly behind him and slowly approached to sit on her right.

"Are you actually okay?" he whispered.

"No," she whispered back, shaking her head. He put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her into him. "I hate that one. It's the worst," she sniffled with a small laugh.

"What was it?"

"When my mom died." She leaned into him with a sigh.

"You saw it?"

"Yeah. We were going between buildings, and she was out in the open. They shot her and there wasn't anything I could do. I had to leave her there, in the dirt."

"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. He never realized Tris had witnessed her mother's death. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." She nudged him with a fake smile, then stood up. "I'll just get more water, you should go back to sleep." She led him out. He stopped at the bathroom while she filled her glass and leaned against the counter, watching him while he settled back onto the cushions of the couch.

Tris nervously shifted from foot to foot, knowing exactly what she needed to feel better. When he stretched out and pulled the blanket back over himself, she left her glass on the counter, grabbing a corner to cover his feet before sitting on the edge of the couch.

"What are you doing?" he sighed, shifting off his back while she stretch out next to him.

"Just for a minute, please?" She continued to position herself, his arm falling around her waist, elbow pinned under her head.

"Tris, I shouldn't. We shouldn't."

"Tell me you don't want this... We can pretend it never happened tomorrow." She pulled his arm around her and felt his muscles tighten as his thighs pressed into the back of her legs, and his submissive, sighing breath as it crossed over her ear in a rush.

Movement roused her before the light in the room was bright enough. She wasn't certain if he was awake, but his hand shifted up her stomach to her ribs and then cupped her breast. His hips pressed forward and she could feel him hard against her. His face nuzzled into the back of her neck, his plump lips finding her skin, lighting a fire down her spine and between her legs. He pressed again, sliding just a little with a moan that growled low and gravelly in the back of his throat. Tris gripped around his thigh, clutching him and pulling him closer, hoping to encourage him. He froze, quickly withdrew his hand and swallowed hard, embarrassed that she'd caught him where fantasy met reality, his apology quick and nervous.

"Dear God!" Caleb exclaimed, catching the last rustle of movement as he emerged from the hallway. "Beatrice, you have a room!" he scowled, covering his eyes and turning into the bathroom.

A snort emanated from the back of her throat, and she giggled, pulling Tobias's arms from around her and retreating to her bedroom, red-faced but pleased. Four rolled so his face was pressed into her pillow, soaking in her scent before pushing himself up and contemplating his day as a distraction.

For the first time, he found it hard to meet Caleb's eyes as they shuffled around each other in the kitchen.

"Don't screw around with my sister," Caleb said under his breath.

"It wasn't intentional," Four responded through his teeth.

"So you just molest everyone like that?"

"I was mostly asleep," he defended.

"Just, don't lead her on, okay. If you're not serious, don't come home with her."

"And who are you to put rules in place." As Four stepped forward, Caleb shrank back, nervously glancing over his shoulder for Tris.

"I'm the only family she has, and don't give me that line about being her family, too. When you gave up and walked out, you stopped being family. I may not have been the best at taking care of her, but at least I tried." Four bowed his chin to his chest, and turned away as the shame swept through him.

Tris was dressed in a light cream shirt and Erudite blue slacks. She took two pieces of toast and put them in the toaster, leaning against Tobias sleepily. He let his hand rub down her back a little before quietly whispering more apologies.

"Don't know what you're talking about," she smirked, hugging him.

"Tris…" he warned.

"I know, this shouldn't be happening." She pulled away from him to butter her toast.

* * *

**Custom designed to continue the feels from last chapter. Was it good for you?**


	33. CH33: Chipped Away

**AN: As always, thanks to my Alpha: Milner and Beta: BK2U. Have a read through and let me know your thoughts in the comments below.**

* * *

Zeke was nearly skipping as he excitedly wove through the hallway, trying to push Four along faster before inevitably having to circle back around to stay with him. He impatiently commanded, "Come on! Can you move your ass?"

"What's the rush?" It wasn't often that Four could fluster Zeke, and seeing his growing irritation made him slow his steps to a casual pace.

"It's just really cool," Zeke whined.

"What is?"

"You'll see. But come on, move a bit, will ya?" Zeke smacked at him, landing solid shots to his pecs and shoulders.

Four shut his eyes, feigning irritation, then took off at a sprint, careening around the others in the hall with loud laughs that taunted Zeke, using his hands on the walls to try and change direction at each corner. Zeke pursued as quickly as he could, but Four had to let him catch up when he no longer knew where he was going. Zeke shoved him into the wall on his way past and they trotted the rest of the way to Shauna's apartment.

"Okay… okay." Zeke caught his breath, nodding expectantly at Four, and then opened the door. "Shauna! Short Stalk! Brought Four over..." She responded from the back room, and Zeke tugged him back by the shoulder.

Shauna was hanging from the chin-up bar Zeke had put in place for her, a lighter set of supports in front of her. She dropped one hand and let it rest on the support for a moment before dropping the other, and clung to the walker with a triumphant smile. She took one shaky step, dragging her toe on the ground, then another.

"Holy crap." Four grinned. "Guess things have been going well."

"Yeah," Zeke beamed, hovering around her like she might fall.

"I'm fine, I got it," Shauna insisted, making a slow path to the couch, then sinking down in exhaustion. Zeke appeared with water, setting it on the table next to her before bringing Four a beer.

"What? I don't get a beer?" Shauna glared. Zeke handed her his and rounded back to the refrigerator. "Always trying to give me water, like I haven't drunk anything all day."

"So, walking is good." Four smiled.

"Yeah, I wanted to wait to tell people, in case the feeling went away." She shrugged. "But it's sticking this time, like it really seems to be improving and stuff. And you helped a lot before and got me ready for it… so I wanted to tell you first." Her small smile was hidden behind her hair as she bashfully examined her beer.

"This really is great. I guess you'll be back on patrol any day now," he teased.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll be happy if I can take the stairs instead of being carried. You know, get to the train station, go into the city. Go to dinner at my parents'." She smiled up at Zeke as he rubbed her shoulder.

"I want to have a party, like in the Pit, invite the whole faction. But someone just wants friends," Zeke declared, squeezing a little tighter.

She shook her head. "You just want a big party."

"I want everyone to see how far you've come. It's amazing."

"Oh, no one cares. I'm just a cripple, I don't even belong here anymore." She turned her glance back to the beer in her hand and took two large swallows.

"If anyone belongs here, it's all you guys that got injured. I mean, what kind of place is this if we ask for the sacrifice, then we turn our backs on the ones that didn't die?" Four challenged. "You've got a lot more people on your side than you think."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Four declared. "If you want a party, you should have a party. Show off your dance moves. It'll probably encourage the others that are struggling."

"See, even the wallflower thinks we should," Zeke prodded.

"Okay, fine. Let's have a party. But does it have to be big, and like… everyone?"

"Yes!" Four and Zeke responded together.

* * *

Zeke had worked hard to get Tris back into shape, encouraging her through her pain and the tidal waves of emotion that overcame her frequently. He was reluctant to hand over his responsibility to someone else, but he had a meeting with the patrol supervisors and then an appointment with Shauna at Erudite. Four was nervous and jittery while Zeke explained where she was with the program Amar had developed. He stayed and watched for a moment, amused at the bashfulness Four couldn't hide and the smile on Tris's face when she found out that she had a different partner for the day, even though she didn't seem to fully trust Four's intentions.

Four had been reluctant to accept Zeke's suggestion after trying so hard to avoid her, to get her to choose to avoid him. But Melissa had been insistent that he had to trust in the methods and practice them, to not limit himself in any way, even in the case of Tris. She'd been complimentary about how serious he was about the process, and he hadn't lashed out in any significant way in a few weeks. It all made him hopeful that he wouldn't screw up, at least not in public.

It went easily enough. They ran, they worked on the bars, they lifted some weights, all the while quietly exchanging coy smiles and comments. They even played a little soccer with the rest of the members, Four taking advantage of the excitement of a goal to pick her up and spin her off her feet for a brief moment.

"Hey, Four." George sauntered up to him after he had sent Tris off on cool down laps. "Want to spar?"

He didn't. Four had avoided conflict, the one thing Melissa had suggested avoiding, working instead on the techniques when the stakes weren't as high. But George had said it loud enough that others were looking with interest.

"Sure." He reluctantly grabbed some tape from the bench and started to wrap his right knuckles, looking at his watch as he took it off. With twenty minutes until her train, there was plenty of time for a quick spar. He told himself over and over that it would be fast, that it would be friendly, and that everything would be okay.

George eyed him with amusement when Four stretched his tight muscles, stalling for a few seconds to pull the ring out of his lip before stepping onto the mat. Tris stopped her laps and stood at the edge. Zeke stepped up next to her, a folder of forms and paperwork tucked under his arm.

"Glad we caught that last train! They haven't fought yet." Zeke smiled excitedly, maybe even giddy with the prospect of seeing the two experts finally compete.

"Get this party thing set up?" Tris smirked in amusement.

He shrugged. "Mostly. Gotta turn in some crap to get my unit off patrol, but should be no problem. Did you and Four do the punching bags?"

"No, why? And what's this party for anyways?"

"You'll see. Bags would make him tired, but my bet's still on George."

"Zeke!" Tris admonished watching a crowd gather like a silent whistle had gone off.

"What? I can't even come close on George, but I almost got Four," he defended.

"Fine, I'll take Four. Loser has to fetch the winner cake tomorrow."

"Deal."

"How'd the appointment go?"

"Alright. Bunch of jackasses in white coats. But overall, okay. Things have healed like they should, no infections or anything."

"Good. So, is there any improvement? Did it help." Zeke folded his arms and kept his eyes on the mat. Tris didn't push, she assumed the answer was no.

Four had demonstrated moves and holds in initiation, but he never fought or sparred with them directly. She had the vaguest recollections of his actions by the Pit and the control room, but none that could help her characterize what the 'best fighter in Dauntless' meant.

"Zeke, can you call it?" George asked.

"Sure, ready? Three minutes, in three, two, one," he called out, while he took off his watch and held it in front of him, putting his thumbnail where the seconds hand had fallen.

George didn't hesitate. He stepped in with hard snaps of successive jabs and a rough kick of his leg. Four blocked and grabbed, thrusting him back and putting him into an off-balance scramble. George received a quick leg kick to the thigh before he could recover. Everyone there knew Four would favor his right hand, and George lashed out to make him use it. To Tris it seemed a little impolite, but to Four, it was like salt on a wound.

George flailed, unable to deflect Four's fast jabs and his quickening assaults. He backed off the mat with a grin while some members clapped and praised. They reset into the center, Four collecting himself and trying to refocus. Four tried to moderate himself by counting to three between responses and blocking more than attacking. But when George increased his pace, Four couldn't get much past two between the combination moves. He tried to concentrate on keeping himself centered, but a solid connection with his left shoulder forced him back onto his left foot, and he had to lead with his right hand.

In the blink of an eye, Tris could tell his mind had shut off and raw aggression was flowing out. Unfiltered battering fists and surprise kicks rained down on George. The crowd whooped in excitement, and George relented, trying to block as much as he could, but Four was faster. George stepped over the line and off the mat, expecting Four to accept his defeat or let him reset, but he kept going. Zeke dropped the folder, papers scattering, his watch falling on Tris's shoe and bouncing somewhere among the feet. He stepped in and pushed Four back as hard as he could while still taking the brunt of his fists and a knee to the thigh. He marched his friend all the way out the door into the cooler evening air, leaving Tris and the others to watch, stunned, as George gathered himself and stared after them reproachfully.

Tris made sure George was on his way to calming down and not badly injured before collecting the fallen papers and following Zeke. She overheard the end of a heated lecture just out of eyeshot of the doorway.

"You have to stop taking it out on the rest of us. If you're that pissed off about it, talk it out. Talk to her."

"I'll get it under control." His voice was pitched up and rushed by his heavy breaths.

"Yeah, because that's worked so far. You have to try something different, and I think that should be telling her what's got you so fucked up. If you won't tell her, tell me, tell Amar, tell someone. If you keep going like this, you're gonna get kicked out."

She shut the door and quickly retreated when she heard one of their footsteps trudging forward. It was Zeke, looking perturbed and bruised, checking his lip and face for blood.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

"I'm not your fucking couples counselor," Zeke spat, swiping the folder out of her hands and moving quickly past her to the locker room.

Indecision kept her between the door and the lockers. She could step out there and confront him, or she could wait and give him time to collect himself. There was also the option of turning tail and avoiding him altogether. Her train was coming and her escort from the infirmary was at the door looking for her, annoyed and checking her watch.

Tris paced back and forth, making and remaking her decision, almost touching the door before she headed back to the locker room.

Four finally came back inside looking calmer, maybe remorseful and somewhat confused when he saw her waiting, arms crossed and a lip between her teeth.

"Train's here in a few minutes." He walked past her, making his decision to avoid.

"No." She stopped him. "What the hell was that?"

"Come on," he ordered with the same gruff instructor tone from initiation.

"I heard what Zeke said out there. You're pissed at me for something and I want to know for what."

"Fine, get your own fucking train." He didn't raise his voice, instead it came out like a dismissal. He continued into the men's locker room, a few friendships to patch up.

She stood outside by the tracks, looking for him. She hoped he'd come out and hug her, tell her it was okay, that he was okay, but the sound of the wheels on the track came first.

* * *

He hated Melissa, or really what she did to him. Whenever he left her office, he felt like an exposed nerve. Like little pieces of Four got chipped away every time, and the soft underbelly that was Tobias was left without defenses. But she was simply trying to give him some tools, like counting and leaving and expressing that he was getting angry to try and stop the escalations. None of it seemed to keep him from being irritable or sensitive to the smallest things. If Zeke seemed to pause and linger in their conversation, his mind would launch into figuring out what he said or did wrong, whether he looked too mean or too happy, usually ending it by snapping. Her advice after discussing his fight with George was to confront the source of his feelings, to be honest about why he was angry.

Entering the Pit for the party, there was something in the way Lauren looked at him that made him feel weak. She'd undoubtedly heard about the fight– there was a challenge in her glance that conveyed how disappointed she was in him, yet dared him to be stronger. It had him thinking he had to prove himself.

Lauren didn't need to say anything out loud, their understanding of each other so complete. She held out a shot when he joined her, urging him to take a little off the edge and he did, one shot at a time.

Four was drunk in a way that made him agree to almost anything, and belligerent every time Lauren tried to intervene. What was worse was the Pit was full of girls on the hunt, and he'd been an elusive target the last few years. His admissions at Candor had softened his reputation, and each girl wanted him to fall in love with them, to sacrifice for them, and to allow himself to be fixed by them. The notion that someone his age could fall in love whet their appetites for a different type of conquest. From her perspective, Lauren thought he might let it happen, even if it was just for a night. Getting him out of the Pit alone would be exhausting: the last time he was drunk in this way, she at least had their fake relationship as a tool.

With her green hair freshly cut and dyed, the girl from the fence circled around Lauren and Four's group of friends like a beacon. Lauren didn't miss the side glances, or how Four blushed when he caught her looking at him. Lauren jerked on his arm a few times and started to feed him diluted drinks, stalling him by involving him in conversations just when his eyes seemed to drift off. She hoped Tris would show soon, and that she'd distract him from an impending disaster. Despite Lauren's reservations, she knew Tris was who he wanted, and that made her a better option than a one night stand he'd spend weeks regretting on her couch.

Distracted by Rafael's wandering hands, Lauren lost track of Four for a split second as he melded into the sea of black shirts. He was innocently on his way to the bathroom, yet smugly aware that eyes were on him and strategies were being made.

Rachelle tracked him, weaving between bodies while trying to catch up. She snagged his arm as he exited the bathroom and let her fingers find his hand, pulling him off his path to the side of the Pit. He smiled with a flush, seeing the arch in her eyebrow as she pulled him down to whisper in his ear, "You know, Diana is on patrol tonight. Can't get in the way this time."

He struggled to think of a response. He needed something to say, but he couldn't pick between the physical need he knew she could fulfill, and the bit of his brain that was holding out for Tris, even though he knew it was something that could be weeks or months off and probably should never happen at all. Her hand found the edge of his shirt and her fingernail dragged along the top of his pants. The tingling flood of sensation was slowly winning over the pang in his chest that always came with the thought of a life without Tris.

But then his eyes caught the blonde hair and diminutive outline of her passing within the crowd. He left Rachelle standing there to follow her, pausing when she was stopped by Ro's strong arms as they wrapped around her in a drunk and enthusiastic hug. He watched as he tousled her hair; it was cut shorter on one side than the other, cut more Dauntless. Seeing how Ro stepped away but kept an arm around Tris's shoulder ignited something more fierce inside of him than repeating his encounter with Rachelle ever could.

Four lied to himself and said it was because he didn't trust Ro to be a gentleman. Tris was laughing, leaning into Ro so her ear was perched right next to his lips. Ro's hand trailed gently up and down the back of her arm, and it flipped a switch. In his more sober moments, he would have thought twice about approaching her, given his outburst the day before. But he couldn't stand there and watch a mating ritual play out right in front of him with his girl.

Four assumed his motions were casual, slow and steady. But anyone paying attention would have seen his focused urgency. He fit himself into the small circle, just to her right. The conversation was innocuous enough, as Derrick was running through a summary of what made it to the storeroom while Ro eyed Four, then huffed a defeated sigh. But the slump in Ro's posture wasn't enough to keep him from being evaluated as competition, an intruder. Four arched an eyebrow and softly dragged the back of two fingers down her spine, relishing in the annoyance on Ro's face when she turned and smiled, leaning into him, not even aware that she'd been claimed.

"Hey, Four," she beamed up at him, with a hopeful and tentative smile. "Where are the drinks at?"

"I'll show you." He pulled her away by the elbow, pushing her to walk in front of him because she was wearing the same black dress as their first dinner at Amar's, and her toned, exposed legs brought thoughts careening through his mind that had no competition.

Lauren saw him approaching the bar, relieved that he'd been found by the right woman, or at least not the wrong one. Emboldened by the alcohol, he kept his hands on Tris despite the ebbing crowd that threatened to cut them apart. As long as his hands were on her, she was real; she couldn't disappear into his dreams or his nightmares. She was concrete and exactly where he wanted her: leaning into him, her hands falling on top of his whenever they could.

While the pressure of his fingertips grounded her into his reality, she was similarly rooted like a usurper on a pedestal – the constant attention made her feel worshipped, and almost worthy of his affections. She sipped at the sweet cocktail through a little straw and enjoyed how his hands never stopped moving; running slowly up and down her arms, finding her hip or her back, spreading across her shoulder like he couldn't feel the ridges of her incisions underneath the light sweater. When the conversation lulled and her head buzzed with the alcohol, the huff of his breath on the back of her neck sent shivers around her body.

Christina raised an eyebrow, seeing the two of them lost in another world, separated and sequestered in the midst of the crowd. A nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach kept her from sharing in Tris's obvious contentment: it wasn't more than two weeks ago that she found Tris sitting with a jackknife on the table in front of her, insisting she was just curious how it folded together. Getting this close, this fast was a bad idea.

Christina lurched forward, grabbing Tris's attention and her elbow. "I have to pee," she stated, pulling her towards the bathrooms.

"Hey, I don't," Tris protested as they wove through the crowd.

"You need to cool down," Christina said as she pulled her through the door.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You and Four are on each other like white on rice."

"So?" Tris challenged. "Is it so awful that someone pays attention to me?"

"No, not usually. But this isn't just someone. And you aren't just anyone to him, either. I don't want you getting caught up in the booze and rushing into anything. You're working through a lot of stuff you know, and involving someone else right now… Look, I'm all in favor of you guys talking, but getting cozy like this? I'm not so sure. Besides, didn't Ro specifically ask you to hang out with him?"

"Yeah, I know, but…." Tris sighed. Knowing Christina was right didn't make it any easier to stick to her recovery plan. "You know, he slept over Sunday night."

"Yeah, on the couch," Christina reminded her of her own words.

"I slept on the couch, too." Tris gave a half-smile and a shrug.

Christina couldn't help the excitement in her voice. "Oh, my God. Was it good? Does Caleb know? Did he catch you? What did his face look like?"

"We just slept, but in the morning, he got a little… excited?" she laughed, "And I liked it."

"And it didn't bring up your fear or anything?"

"No. Maybe I'm over it? Maybe I just needed the separation or something."

"Maybe," Christina allowed.

"Anyways, I won't go crazy. But this feels like he's actually making an effort to open up to me, let me back in."

"Tris, is he letting you in or is he feeling you up?" Christina admonished. "There's not a lot of talking going on. There's a big difference between physical attraction and emotional security."

"You don't seem to mind one without the other," she pointed out.

"That's me. That's not you."

"It could be."

"Just be careful, okay? I just want you to be careful and be sure." Christina gave her a little side hug.

Tris nodded and followed her back out to their group. She didn't miss the amused and primal look Tobias cast as his eyes ran up and down her body, his hands gravitating to her as soon as she was within reach. Ever since Zeke had pulled her aside and warned her about his indiscretions at the fence, she figured he'd never look at her like that again. But with the ravenous look in his eyes and his hands all over her, she questioned if she needed the emotional side before she needed his touch.

Tobias wasn't exactly drunk any more, but he was tipsy. A blush crossed his face, seeing Tris look at him with an eager smile. He nodded and let all the perverse assumptions that teenagers make flicker behind his eyes. He wanted her, his body needed her, and she was right in front of him, dressed like she was worth asking. He informed her as much with a heavy whisper in her ear and a peck to her temple.

Even Christina missed the exchange as everyone turned and cheered for Shauna as she came walking in, her dad carrying a couple of crutches and Zeke holding her hand through each shaky step. No one noticed them slip away.

* * *

He was even more sober when they reached his door. Where his hands had been poised and fluid under the influence, they were now clunky and unsure, the cold of the hallway creeping around them as he fumbled with the key. She stood, holding her bag, aware of the snooping glances of the kids down the hallway. Tris was fighting back the anxiety that had swelled, starting with his first mention of her staying with him. She could always go to Christina's apartment like she'd planned, but she felt like her following him was a commitment, or had at least set an expectation.

Once inside, she clumsily removed her shoes and set her bag on the floor by the door. He followed suit, loudly dropping each boot in the silence of the apartment, thankful again that Zeke made him get new ones. Tobias put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a nervous smile, then leaned in and touched his lips gently to hers, pulling back uncertain but rewarded by her blush. Their touch was mechanical, each one holding up the assumed expectations of the other, almost like another training goal. His lips crushed the hard metal ring into hers, clipping it against her teeth, and her hands were so cold he could feel them on his stomach through his shirt. They fizzled quickly, before they could move much past their tentative contact.

"Water?" he asked, stepping to the kitchen before she could respond, trying to get some time to figure out what was wrong.

"Yeah." She played with the salt shaker on the counter, then accepted the glass and sat down on the hard wooden chair at the table.

"So…" He took a few sips, leaning against the counter and setting the shaker back in place.

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "So…"

"Are you really staying the night?"

"If you changed your mind–"

"No. I just want to make sure you're sure."

She watched his gaze change from nervous to something more assured, more confident. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I mean, yesterday…" He sighed, and the slump was back in his shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about yesterday?"

It was past midnight, and he'd ran his body into the floor all week. He didn't have the wherewithal to guard his expression. His face pinched in exasperated frustration as he waffled, "Yes, no. Yes."

"Sit." She pushed out a chair for him and he flopped down, not expecting her to stand up and walk behind him. Her hands found their way to his shoulders; she kneaded the rock solid knots in his neck and the sore mounds between his shoulder blades. She paused, then dipped her hand under his collar to spread the chill of her fingers over his chest.

"What happened yesterday?" she asked, feeling the bubbles of acid disperse from his shoulder.

"I just got frustrated."

"Frustrated about what?"

"With my hand. I can't use it like I used to."

"And it makes you angry with me? Or, was Zeke talking about someone else?"

"A little. With you," he admitted, barely above a whisper.

"Why? What did I do?"

He stood up, the closeness of her contact irritating him in an instant. "It wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for you," he accused.

"Oh no. Don't put that on me."

His eyes narrowed. "I call it the way it is."

"You don't get to hold me responsible for your decisions. What you did is what you did," she started, taking the seat he just vacated. Part of her was excited to be finally digging into a topic, another was nervous that he'd lose control.

"My decisions? If I had it my way I would have been with you, by your side all the way through." He was about to ask her to leave before he got too hot.

"I took responsibility for making the wrong decision when I was in no condition to make it. And I've been trying my hardest to show you that I'm in this to fix things. But you made the choice to leave town when you could have just as easily come back here. And then you made the choice to stay there when things started going south. If you can't wrap your head around the fact that you made those decisions, then this is too broken to fix." She stopped and watched his stone face soften in thought. "The only thing we can control is our own reaction," she reminded him, another Abnegation phrase.

He dropped his chin to his chest, letting the reality of her statement sink in. "It's easier to blame you," he mumbled, the closest she'd probably ever get to an admission. He wiped his face with his hands, the fight flushed out of him. "Too broken to fix?"

"Is it?" she challenged.

He shook his head as he plopped into the seat next to her. "I don't even know what this is. Is there even something here to fix?"

"You don't want me here? Fine." She started to shuffle to the door her anger at being foolish rising with each heartbeat.

He immediately grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him, his head resting against her stomach. "I want you here. I just… It's late. I've been up since five. I can't think straight."

"Are you ever going to trust me again?"

"You're here, aren't you?" He laid his cheek flat against her and inhaled her scent. "You still staying?" He felt slightly indifferent to her response, too tired and spent to hope.

"Yeah," she murmured, disappointed, and followed him to the edge of his bed. He pulled out a shirt and a pair of shorts with a drawstring for her. "Thanks." She disappeared into the bathroom to change.

He was stripped to his boxers and a tank top, under the covers close to sleep, but awake enough to watch her cross the room with sedate curiosity. She flicked the light off quickly before crawling in and sliding up next to him, encouraging him to wrap his arms around her.

"Why did you keep that piercing?"

"Same reason you got that fancy haircut. So maybe they'd see me as Dauntless again."

"I like kissing you without it better," she admitted.

"Make sure I'm awake before you leave," he asked, mumbling and pecking softly at the back of her neck, purposefully dragging the ring against her skin.

"Okay." She anxiously closed her eyes, hoping that she could make it through the night without a bad dream.

Avoiding a repeat demonstration of her demons wasn't the only concern that flitted through her mind. Everything about sleeping with a boy — from being in his room, to laying on a strange mattress with odd smells, to the different sounds and shadows on the wall — had her mind buzzing. Then came the doubts about him and her, and why he wasn't trying to have sex with her or why he fell asleep so fast, all of it echoing loudly between her ears. She focused on the feel of his arms and the warmth of his skin, the tangibles that she'd dreamt of over the months soothing her into relaxing just enough to fall asleep.

* * *

**A little bit about some stories... I'm pretty late to the game on most fics, but in case you haven't seen these...**

I've plugged it before, but this one gets better with every chapter, and she has the whole damned thing written but she won't show me a single little thing... She's seen EVERYTHING for SN... EVERYTHING... but fine, what ever...

**Milner's "Make it Rain" (M rated)**

Just completed and a very quick and lovely read:

**FerrisWheelFics's "Worth a Thousand Words" (T rated)**

A Guilty Pleasure:

**"Into the Night" PurpleStar613 (T rated)**

* * *

**Now... I know the updates have been slow and this chapter isn't quite as happy as the others, but you got two kids in bed together... really, what did you expect to happen?**

**So, how does this chapter make you feel?**


	34. CH34: Memory Lane

**Many appreciations to my life coach and long lost sister, Milner. If you haven't you must go read her masterpiece, Make It Rain. It's just inspiring to see such sound story telling and great writing.**

**And the dear BK2U who puts up with so much from so many to help us deliver higher quality writing. I know I'm not the most difficult, but I'm not easy. So thank you for your patience.**

* * *

Adrenaline pumped, waking her seconds after his hands clenched around her biceps. The sensation of his fingers digging into her flesh, feeling his strength all the way down to her bones, was more real than anything she'd ever dreamt. Every time he'd snuck into her nightmares, he'd held her down by the wrists, not the shoulders. His body was just as much a weight to crush her as to violate her; this was a dream she'd never had before. In this new iteration, his knees pressed down into the mattress, one on either side of her right thigh. All of his weight pushed down around her, instead of on her and his legs were shaking but not forcing hers apart.

Slamming her hard into the mattress, Four shouted, "Steven, run!" His eyes were open and searching hers, but it was clear that he didn't see her. Droplets of sweat dripped down under his chin, and a dribble fell from his nose onto her face.

This was not her nightmare, it was his.

Tobias blinked rapidly, finding her crumpled into a defensive ball under his crushing hands. They sprang open when he sat back on his heels. His dazed expression dissipated with each breath until his eyes softened. He quickly scrambled over her and off the bed, as if the mattress were burning his knees. She caught a breathy apology between her and the shutting of the bathroom door. The sheets next to her were soaked through.

Tris heard the faucet turn on and carefully approached the cracked door. It took her minutes to calm down from a nightmare and get a grip back on reality, minutes she preferred Caleb and Christina to leave her alone. So, she waited until his breathing was closer to normal then tapped the door open.

"I'm okay, go back to sleep." He was using a towel to sponge off his torso, tank top thrown into the corner. She came in anyways, her arms clutching herself. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to make eye contact. His expression was all too familiar to her: he was ashamed that she had seen him so weak and broken.

"I get them too, remember." She gently tugged the towel from his hands and dragged it over each faction, kissing his shoulder when she was done. "It's okay. Most of us do."

"Yeah?" He'd assumed it was a factor of being a coward underneath it all.

"Yeah. Christina, Zeke, Caleb, almost everyone I've talked to for my research." She smiled a half-smile, laying her head on his back and circling her arms around his waist. "You're not that different from the rest of us."

He let his hands rest on hers for a minute before drinking a glass of water and following her back to the bed. Tris pulled him to her side to avoid the still-damp sheets.

"What did you dream about?" she asked.

"Can't remember." He groped around in his mind, playing back the sensations he'd felt when he woke and searched for the cause. Nothing came back to him.

"Who's Steven?"

His already-worn heart stuttered and he huffed, "A guy I knew in Milwaukee." He pulled her head forward, pressing her forehead to his lips as he mumbled, "Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow."

She pulled herself into him to keep from rolling over the edge of the bed. The unusual comfort of her closeness after waking up in a panic prompted a long sigh, and a relaxing of his shoulders. Pressing her nose against his throat, Tris smelled the heavy scent that he couldn't wipe clear, and it was like pulling a trigger. His hands moved quickly, his lips wanting more of her than she intended. Tris was intoxicated. She sought to return each and every kiss with a fervor that matched the tug of war their hands were playing to push each other under the other. One hand was pressed up under her shirt, into the space between her shoulder blades while the other held her neck in place so he could exact his requests against her collarbone. He rolled into her with his shoulder, finally winning the battle.

Tobias settled himself on one elbow and pulled the thin cloth of her borrowed shirt up. His knee raked between hers, his second shifting to push her legs apart while his hand greedily cupped her breast. The movement shook Tris's easy buildup of desire, sparking recollections that shuddered forward then took hold. Her stomach clenched and her chest heaved. Tris's focus was split between the rational — wanting to finally enjoy being with him — and the sudden anxiety brought on by simulation memories that felt all too real.

She processed the conflicting thoughts as best she could, hoping that pushing herself through the fear would rid her of it altogether. She closed her eyes and tried to keep perfectly still: if she didn't thrash or fight, he'd have her naked in a moment, and maybe it would be the last time she'd feel so scared.

"Tris." He kissed her cheek, slowing the moment down and trying to press softness back into her rigid body with his lips. She sucked in a breath and hoped he'd ignore his distraction. "Are you okay?" He stopped entirely, shifting off of her, to see her eyes squeezed tight. "Is it your shoulder? Did I hurt you?" She shook her head and pulled away to the side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Just give me a second. I can do this. Just… wait a second. I'm sorry. I'll do this," she said more to herself than to him, while she examined the next dozen steps in her head and tried to choose the right one. Tobias edged up behind her, his legs on either side, his hands tentatively touching her back and shoulders. She shrugged him off, his touch too kind to be deserved. She was failing his expectations, she'd never measure up.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, putting his hands back on her arms and kissing her shoulder. "Talk to me."

"How come I have to talk when you want to? Why am I the only one that has to be honest?" she snapped, stepping away from him and leaning against the wall. She pulled at the shirt, trying to cover more of herself.

There it was again. Honesty. There were little truths he could share, would easily if they were enough to keep her from the bigger ones that could destroy everything. But he could tell she needed something from him before he would get anything from her. Four groaned. "I said tomorrow, not never."

"Was it about the man you killed?" She jumped at the chance to deflect the attention off of herself.

He stayed quiet for a long minute, mulling over what it meant to trust Tris, and if he could tell her the truth, or at least part of it. "No. I don't know. I don't remember." She rolled her eyes and he defended, "Seriously, I don't."

"Then what about this Steven guy? It had something to do with him."

"Steven was around a lot. I worked with him most of the time I was there."

"Ever tell him to run?" Tris asked, digging her big toe into the rough grain of the floorboards.

"We lived in a bad part of town, got in a few fights. I took some beatings, and Steven was there for some of that." He brushed it off like it was nothing.

"Nightmares like that, they aren't just fights. They're from trauma. What was it? You got hurt? You hurt someone?" she challenged.

"Yeah, I lost once." He rubbed his hand and it was all the admission she needed to put it together.

"You weren't by yourself? When it happened?"

He shrugged. "Steven was older, not much of a fighter. I thought if he could get back to the work camp, get some help..."

"What's so hard about admitting that?" she asked softly.

He had to think quickly. The hard part wasn't admitting what happened, it was admitting why. "Tris, I've never lost a fight. _Ever_. If people here thought I was weak, that I wasn't good enough… You even seem surprised. How could I lose, especially if I wasn't alone?" he pointed out with a snap.

Tris bit her lip; he was right, she had been surprised. She swiftly slipped from guilt to indignation: he was the one who said she knew him better than anyone. While that alone didn't mean he should let her in on everything, it certainly should have cut through all his avoidance and landed at the truth faster. She reined in the bitterness of her tone, but she still stated harshly, "When did I become 'people'?"

He shrugged. "Guess I don't want you to look at me any different than before. I honestly don't remember my dream, Tris. I hardly ever remember. I just wake up knowing that something happened." She let the momentary annoyance pass out of her with a nod and a heavy sigh. Tris sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his back, letting him pull her closer.

"So, what did I do?" he asked as he played with the hem of her sleeve. She was thankful that the room was dark and he wouldn't be able to see the start to the bruises. If he knew he'd grabbed her, he would have asked already. She knew it must have blended in with his nightmare.

"I... um. You surprised me, is all." She'd never told an easier lie. Despite his sudden admission, she was still sure that his interest in her wasn't a meeting of the minds.

He sighed. "You're still afraid of me." He pulled back from her, giving her the space he assumed she wanted.

"I'm not," she replied, examining the distance he put between them, wondering how much he was regretting having brought her back to his apartment. "I just... it's fast and I don't know if we're together or not. And, I mean, why should we be? I'm… never going to be as good as the rest of them." She wrapped her arms around herself.

"The rest of who?"

"All the other Dauntless girls. They're all so experienced, and none of them have been shot up like me."

"Hey, hey. I like how you look. I've always liked how you look." He let out a breathy laugh with a soothing rub of her back. It did little to comfort her as her mind raced through every imperfection that separated her from her competition.

"I don't look like that anymore. And I'll never look like your other girls. Why'd you even bring me here?" she whispered.

"I don't have other girls, Tris." He sat up, moving a little closer to her. The mood seemed dire; Tris was shrinking, shutting down, he could see her locked in her own head. His impulsive shift and the grip he placed on her arm didn't seem to even phase her. "You're perfect. You've always been, and will always be perfect." He gently kissed her shoulder, his arms circling her waist and pulling her towards him. He would jump off the damned building if it meant she'd listen to him. She pulled back from him, turning to confront him.

"If I do things with you, like they do, could we be together then? Will that make a difference? Or am I just here because I'm convenient?"

"Convenient? What? Tris, I'm not seeing anyone else." He searched her face trying to understand the stern glare he was getting.

"But, at the fence…"

"Damn him," he hissed in sudden understanding, his head falling backwards.

"Were you ever going to tell me? Or would I just walk in on you one day? Maybe hear about it in the locker room when they don't think I'm there?"

"I'm not seeing anyone right now. And, I don't know… the fact that I did doesn't matter. If it did, I would have told you. Eventually."

"Along with everything else we don't talk about?"

"Tris, it's late. We can talk all you want tomorrow."

"Yeah, it is late. And tomorrow you'll have a shift to work. And the next day, you'll be late for the damn soccer game."

"I won't, I promise. I have the morning shift. We'll talk tomorrow when you come. Just lay down here with me, sleep." With Tris's harsh expression softening into exhaustion and hurt, Four started to take stock of the night's progression. He'd been tentative early in the day, uncommitted and even open to someone else. But watching her twist herself around had settled one thing: he had to make a decision and stick with it. If this was what she thought every night, every time he pulled her close then pushed her away. He couldn't imagine why she ever bothered staying so persistent.

"If I let you have sex with me, would you talk to me then?"

"We weren't going to before, and we certainly aren't now," he grumbled.

"Not what your hands were saying."

"I don't think I have any… protection." He blushed, embarrassed by his lustful loss of control. He had always possessed a greater awareness and respect with Tris, but all that had gone out the door with a little rub of her nose on his neck. A little rub that stirred something greater than just his physical reaction. It was a feeling he'd almost forgotten existed because he only ever felt it with her.

"Right. But if you did, you wouldn't want to?"

Four rubbed the back of his neck and groaned. "You exhaust me. I would. But, it would be a mistake. Not a mistake… but… I'm too tired for this."

"Fine. Tomorrow," she relented, laying back down, her back to him. "Before training, not after." She didn't sleep for what felt like hours, and judging from his adjustments on his side of the mattress, neither did he.

* * *

Tris woke with a shock when his arms squeezed around her, pressing into the purpling bruises that ringed her arms. She shifted as slowly as she could to separate herself. He mumbled something, trying to pull her back, and she pushed a little harder. "I have to pee." He let her go, and she grabbed her dress and sweater off the chest of drawers and slunk into the bathroom.

Pulling the sweater on over the dress, she frantically turned in the mirror, wobbling on tip-toes to double check that there weren't any other bruises to cover. She smeared some toothpaste on her finger and swirled away her bad morning breath, wet her fingers and tried to comb them through her hair, trying to settle the frizzed locks into some sense of order. The small mirror reflected a horror show of dark smears of mascara and eye shadow misplaced by the pillow. Tobias tapped at the door while she hastily tried to clean her face.

"Just a second."

"Hate to rush you, but I only have one toilet..." he begged, shuffling uncomfortably. She looked at what little progress she'd made and rushed past him to the kitchen sink to continue scraping at her skin.

"Careful, you'll lose your eyebrows." Four pulled her back from the sink, keeping his hand on her stomach while he shut off the water. "Breakfast?" he asked, pushing her damp hair back from her face and behind her ear. His hand paused on the back of her neck while he contemplated whether he would ever be okay if he couldn't touch her again.

"Ah…" There was a knock on the door that escalated from a light tap into a pounding drum. "Guests?"

Tobias looked down at his bare torso and boxers and then at her, fully dressed. "Can you?" he asked, heading back towards his chest of drawers.

Christina leaned in through the slight opening while Tris scrambled to secure the straps on her shoes. She raised an eyebrow hearing Four shuffle into his clothes. "I thought so… ready to leave?"

"Yeah, sure," Tris said in a hushed whisper, quickly stepping out into the hallway.

"You can say goodbye, you know."

"It's okay. Let's go."

"Uh… really?"

"Yeah."

Christina started in once they were in the relative privacy of the empty hallway leading out to the train yard. "That bad? I warned you. I said–"

"Nothing major happened," Tris interrupted. "Only that he promised to talk to me about stuff tonight, instead of training."

"How'd that happen?"

"I don't know. He sort of had a nightmare and he didn't want to talk. And I might have thrown a fit about it until he promised to talk about stuff today, but only if I let him sleep."

"You think he will?"

"If he doesn't, then there's no real point in trying anymore, is there?" She paused, thought about keeping it to herself, then admitted, "I said I'd have sex with him if he'd talk to me, and he turned me down. So if he doesn't talk today, then I guess I'll know how he really feels."

"Tris, sex isn't a tool like that. If he talks to you just to get you into bed, then you shouldn't go to bed with him," Christina warned. "You can't let him use you like that."

"You don't understand. You can pull any guy out of the Pit and they'll go home with you. No one else will touch me. Maybe he will."

"Stop it. You're going to talk to that boy, and then you're not going to put out for weeks. No, months! You're not having sex until you're fucking thirty and can appreciate yourself properly." Tris rolled her eyes. "Now be careful in those shoes. I'm not scraping you off the tracks unless I'm the one that puts you there."

* * *

Four was at the train dreading her arrival. He'd had all day to bounce back and forth between being with or without her. Watching her strength peel away as she thought through his indiscretions had shocked him. Her descent from self assured woman into a shell of herself was exaggerated in his memory, morphing her into a weakened caricature of herself. He had realized the power he had over her and the guilt that came with that was unsettling.

None of which made him any more sure that he was choosing to be with her for the right reasons. But nevertheless, that was his choice. When she landed, Christina said something quickly to Tris then walked past him through the doors with a skeptical look.

"What I do to her?"

"Wasn't you." Tris gave him a half-smile, starting into the building.

"Let's walk. I haven't been able to get much sun lately," he directed, heading off in the opposite direction, and she followed. He tugged on her long-sleeve shirt, "You gonna get too hot?"

"No. I'll be fine. Where we going?" she smiled quickly.

"Just out, do a loop or something. I've been sitting all day." They walked for a minute or so, not talking, not looking at each other, Four's hands shoved in his pockets, and a healthy space between them. "So?"

"So talk," she said curtly.

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Anything?" he stalled.

"About the other girls," she whispered, thinking it would be easier if it was treated like removing a bandage.

"Fine. I messed around with a couple of girls at the fence. It was before Zeke got up there, and your letter," he said matter-of-factly.

"You couldn't wait?"

"What exactly was I supposed to be waiting for?" His tone was harsher than he intended; Tris knew that day on the train hadn't left much room for interpretation.

"I don't know. It just seems like it was really fast."

"I'm not as Abnegation as you seem to think. I like sex. I was willing to wait until we figured things out, but there wasn't anything left to wait for. So, why not?" A little bit of him liked the way it dug into her; until what started as jealousy slowly started to unravel her. He couldn't watch her expression mutate her features, choosing instead to watch the toes of his boots as they walked.

"I thought you believed in something between Dauntless and Abnegation."

When he finally made eye contact with her, seeing her wrapped around herself like she was disintegrating, he regretted the glibness of his reply. "I wouldn't have slept with them, even if they offered." He wasn't certain if that was the truth, but he hoped it was.

"So… what did you do with them?" she asked, his two statements seemingly contradicting each other.

He turned as red as a sunburn. "I didn't sleep with them. Can we just leave it at that?"

"What are their names?"

"Well…" He grimaced; he didn't want to give her the ability to make direct comparisons. "… I mean, it doesn't matter. It was a one-time thing."

"So, strangers?"

Four sighed when he heard the disappointment in her tone, and refused to answer. He walked for a dozen steps before probing again. "What else you want to know?"

"Your hand. The truth this time."

"A fight. I told you, last night."

"But what was it really about?"

"Me being on the wrong street at the wrong time."

"Yeah, uh-huh."

"You don't know what it was like there. People died over beer money or even just over bad looks." He was conscious of the defensiveness in his voice.

"Why would someone cut off your finger? It just seems so... personal."

"Wish I knew," he lied, hoping the angle hid whatever tells he couldn't control. Tris narrowed her eyes, suspecting he was lying just from his odd tone. "What else?" he pressed on.

"How many girls?" she kicked a rock out in front of them so she'd have somewhere to look besides straight down.

"I told you, just the two."

"How many before you came back to the city?"

"Oh. Really, just one."

"Did you love her?"

He chuckled, "No, not at all."

"But you had a relationship with her?"

"I wouldn't call it a relationship. It was just… physical." His face contorted seeing her grimace. "Hey, not everything is so bad."

She snorted. "What's good about it?"

"I thought I could forget you, replace you. Instead, it showed me that I couldn't." He gave her a hopeful smile and put his arm around her, sliding his hand down. Her breath caught and she swallowed hard as he unknowingly pressed into the bruise that banded her arm.

"Honest, Tris, I thought about you all the time." She shied away, stepping a little further from him, her arms gripping her elbows. Tobias reached out to keep her from retreating further. "You can't be mad at me for that. Not when we were hundreds of miles apart."

Tris blanched and held her breath before brushing his hand off quickly. "What? Are you okay?" He dropped his arm and took in her apprehension, putting everything together from when he first woke up the night before. She shrugged her shoulders, a horrifying acknowledgment. "Tris, what did I do? Did I... hurt you?" She didn't meet his eyes, smearing the sweat from her palms onto her pants. He ran his hands through his hair. "Shit, what'd I do? How bad is it?"

Tris dropped her face and pulled herself in tighter. "It's fine. It's nothing. It'll heal in a week."

"See. _That__'s_ why we can't do this… I could kill you in my sleep. I'd wake up and you'd be dead." He stared at her for a moment like she'd punched him in the gut. "Why didn't you tell me?" he half-shouted before quickly turning back towards Dauntless.

She rolled her head back in exasperation before following him at a distance. Once they were in the building, she tracked him as he walked down the path to the rocky outcropping above the water. He'd already settled and was running his fingertips over the sandy dirt by the time she made it down. He dropped his head in defeat and leaned back, lying flat on the rock as she stood over him.

"You gonna pout?" she asked, crouching to sit next to his shoulder.

"I could have killed you," he stated, well on his way to rethinking everything he ever knew about himself, everything that had been going so well. All the work with Melissa was a total failure. He was a total failure.

"And I could have kicked you hard enough to stop you," she suggested.

"But you didn't."

"It was over so fast. I didn't have a chance."

"Exactly."

Tris reached out and set her hand on his arm, gripping at first then feeling the hairs as she stroked up against the grain and back down, lying each one back flat. "You promised we'd talk."

Tobias pulled his arm from her grip and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Tris, don't. I hurt you, and I'll hurt you again. This is pointless."

"No, you hurt Steven, poor man. No wonder he left you on your own," she teased with levity in her tone. He glared at her through his fingers. "You didn't hurt me… You didn't _mean_ to hurt me."

"Why can't you take this seriously?"

"Because I'm tired of you avoiding the issues and finding excuses to push me away. If you don't want me anymore, that's all you have to say. But I don't think that's what you want. Or at least if it is, you're being a coward about it." She pulled her knees up and laid her head against them, her arms securing her for any response.

"We can't be together. I'm not in control. Maybe we can manage to be friends."

"No!" He raised an eyebrow, looking at her with surprise. "You keep pushing me away, or I push you away, but we always come back together."

"We shouldn't be alone together. At least not while I'm still dangerous."

"Stop it," she huffed. "You're gonna get mad and you're going to lose control and you're going to mope about it, but I won't let you do it alone."

His hand started at her elbow and slowly dragged up her sleeve until she winced. "I won't sleep with you, ever. What kind of relationship is that?"

"You're going to ask for help. And Melissa will give you something to help you sleep," Tris declared.

"Drugs, that's your answer? I mean, aren't they addictive?" He regretted not filtering his response when she turned to press her forehead to her legs, a shamed expression replacing her determination.

"Not the ones for sleeping. I still take them when I have three or more nights without sleep," she confirmed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... call you out on it."

"It's fine. I can't change that part of who I am."

"Maybe I can't change—"

A clatter of ropes fell down from the chasm lip above. Tris leaned back to try and see up over the ledge: there were three bodies outlined by the lights above them. Four shuffled to his feet and looked around in surprise. She glanced at her wrist and laughed. "Excellent response time. I've been down here for like five minutes."

"Fuck, Tris. It showed you in the middle of the chasm. We thought you jumped." Anxo huffed in relief. "How the hell did you get down here?"

"There's a trail." Four pointed at the nearly invisible steps.

Anxo turned from them and called the all clear into his communicator, halting the two guys waiting at the top.

* * *

**I know this is yet another sea-saw chapter but it has a lot of gems in it about motivation and the personal struggles. So sorry, not sorry. Stay tuned.**

It's probably recognized by those of you who have been reading for a while, but life sometimes just gets in the way of creative energy. Sometimes you only get 1-2 hours a week where you get to choose your activity. For me, those few hours have come when I've been at a state of exhaustion I can't even properly describe. I don't see the light at the end of this tunnel, so I'm begging for your utmost patience as I try to wrap this puppy up. I'll do my best to update at least once a month. But oh my God is it hard.

_Also, Happiest Birthday to Ms. B-Dauntless. Congratulations on surviving the Earth's annual trip around the sun. May you have a fulfilling, enlightening, and energizing year._

**As always, I love to hear from you. Now more than ever, your comments and questions and complaints are energizing and motivating.**


	35. CH 35: Deepest Contemplations

**I promise you, I'm working my absolute hardest on finishing this off in the next few months... I say that and you can probably add some months on to that since nothing has gone as I've planned. This chapter looked pretty different during Round 1. So thanks to the diligence and over 400 suggested changes by Ms. Milner. And never to be forgotten, BK2U, the ever steady beta-ready fandom editor.**

**While I have your attention, may I make a reading suggestion: Timebound by Rysa Walker. I really love this story and I think I love book 2 even better. Time travel is one of my favorite scify topics.**

* * *

"I see your panties are still on and your hair's not a mess." Christina raised an eyebrow as she walked into the relative calm of the locker room after watching Tris and Four come into the training room single file and silent.

"We just talked." Tris rolled her eyes.

"And?"

"And I don't know, we got interrupted. But maybe we can spend more time together."

"Naked?"

"No. To finish the conversation. Anyways, he was pretty clear _that's_ not going to happen, at least not when he's sober. But, I think that maybe we can be friends. Maybe we can at least talk and train together. Maybe, I dunno."

"Did he say he didn't want to be more?"

"He said he won't sleep with me again. And what kind of relationship is that besides friends?" Tris paraphrased his statements while she fought the swing of emotions with measured breaths, holding as firm as she could after seeing the pity reflected in Christina's expression.

"Sudden restraint?" Christina scoffed.

"Um, it's him being stupid, really. He had that nightmare and woke up a little rough and it scared him that he might hurt me worse if it happened again. So, he said— "

"He hurt you? You didn't say he hurt you." Tris's stomach flipped, wanting to reel her statement back in. Her feet shuffled toward the training room as if she could escape.

"No!" Christina's shrill gasp echoed around the room. She grabbed Tris's wrist in a panic. "Show me what he did."

"He didn't mean to. He was still in his dream. He thought I was someone else," she blabbered, trying to pull away.

"Show me." Christina pulled her into a toilet stall, the other girls growing quiet and turning to gawk. She had practically pushed Tris into harm's way by encouraging them to spend time together, to talk and figure things out. She'd never thought Four would hurt her. She'd never read someone so wrong.

Tris slipped one arm out of her sleeve, pulling her shirt up over her shoulder. "It's just a bruise. It'll heal."

"You let him do this to you?" Christina asked, examining the wide band of bruises that circled her arm.

"No, I didn't let him! I was asleep, too," she snarled, jerking her shirt down. "By the time I realized what was happening, he was already off of me and in the bathroom."

"Tris, you can't date a guy that does this shit to you."

"He didn't mean to."

"You're making excuses for him. People don't do this in their sleep! What happened? Did he get mad at you? Were you arguing? Did he hit you? Are you hurt anywhere else?" Christina started to pull on Tris's shirt, frantic to prove to herself that the damage was limited.

Tris looked at her, confused and slighted. "I'm not making it up. He was sleeping. He would never hurt me on purpose."

"Tris…" Christina tried to think of some way to reason with her, but Tris pushed past her and out into the training room.

Christina watched Tris start warm-up laps, fighting her instinct to push her to see Janice. As she followed her with her eyes, Christina started to focus on the other members that loitered in the space between them. Her scanning gaze analyzed each tall member before falling back onto Tris. A laugh she recognized cackled through the open side door, and barely visible in the contrasting light, her scrutiny settled on Four.

He was rocking side to side on the soles of his feet, the stones crunching against each other with each sway. Four was staring down Rafael in the harsh afternoon sunlight. If Tris was too dumb to realize what was happening, she would take care of it herself.

The closer she got the more distress she could read in Four's knitted brow. His face was in sharp contrast to Rafael's happy and teasing expression. The more Rafael laughed, the angrier she became. Four's posture was all wrong for his usual cocky persona, but all she saw was someone she'd trusted not to hurt her friend. The way one arm clutched around his stomach emphasized his thin torso and made him look small. His other hand covered his mouth as he stroked his thumb against the stubble on his chin. His head was lowered, and bobbed as Rafael talked to him. Then Rafael grabbed his shoulder and said something, the corners of his lips perking up, and Four dropped his arms to his side with a long exhale and a nod.

"You!" Christina pointed at Four as she charged through the door. He turned to face her with an exasperated sigh, his arms clutching back around himself in defense.

"Christina, not a good time." Rafael stepped between them. "He feels bad enough."

"We should be reporting him, arresting him," Christina half-shouted. "Did you see what he did?"

"He didn't mean to."

"Yeah, that's always how it starts… 'I didn't mean to' or 'I didn't know she was behind the door' or 'she slipped' or 'I had a dream'," Christina accused, turning her attention to Four, "She say no? Try to get answers? What set you off this time?"

"Back off, he had a night terror." Rafael stepped into her, pushing her back with his body.

"She's right, maybe this is how it starts," Four mumbled, turning to walk along the wall to the train yard. "I have to leave."

"Shut up. Shut up and stay right there." Rafael pointed at him, then corralled Christina with his outstretched arms and backed her away, lowering his voice. "Christina, you're not helping here."

"Someone has to hold him accountable." Four avoided her piercing glare.

"He's got nothing to account for, it was a night terror." Christina's eyes rolled when she turned her focus back to Rafael. "Seriously, the guy gets nightmares, a lot of nightmares. But a lot of the time, he gets the worst kind. Lauren gets them, too, they're called night terrors. They can't remember them, they move around, say shit they don't know they've said. And I know that sometimes he looks like he's woken up but he really hasn't. It's happened a dozen times since I met him. And he'll thrash around, or grab you, or yell crazy shit. And when he comes out of it, he doesn't remember doing any of it. He just knows he had a nightmare." He paused, quickly turning back towards Four who, although leaning against the rock wall, was staring at the exit. "This is probably my fault. I didn't tell him it was happening. I assumed he knew."

"You didn't tell him he's a violent nutter? For fuck's sake. She's like a quarter his size. He could have killed her!"

"Well, he knows now. And I'm trying to keep him from bailing out and going back to Milwaukee. If he stays here, he can get help. If he goes back to Milwaukee, well, he's gonna die. He'll find someone to do it, or he'll starve himself to nothing, or he'll get sick, again."

"He won't leave. He's too selfish for that."

"He's had a bag packed for weeks. I found it under his bed when I was collecting my things. He's got clothes, knives, and guns with ammunition. Look at his new boots, those aren't Dauntless, they're for construction. Why would he buy construction boots? He even has winter gear. He's got everything to go back to the camps."

"He didn't mean to?" She challenged Rafael to look away, to show her that he was lying.

"He didn't know he was doing it." His eyes held steady before he turned back to Four, who had squatted down, picking at the stones between his feet.

"You're not leaving," Rafael stated, pulling Four up to his feet.

"It's safer for her, safer for everyone," Four mumbled.

"You haven't even tried to get help. Lauren's doing so much better after that break at Amity, and the suggestion came from one of those Candor counselors. Maybe you just need something to take your mind off of things, put your focus on something else. Or, you know, talk to that counselor about it."

It was the same advice that Zeke had shouted at him at almost the exact same spot outside the training room when he lost his cool with George. But it wasn't for his own sake that he latched onto it this time. If he told Melissa, she'd have to report him. She would put an end to the nonsense. If Rafael knew that she'd have to turn him in, he wouldn't have suggested it. So, Four kept quiet.

"Me, in Amity? Tried that once, wasn't easy. And I'm pretty sure they wouldn't welcome me back," he dismissed, leading Rafael back inside the training room.

"So, then talk to that counselor and see what she can do for you. You know, actually fix things. Leaving isn't gonna take your mind off of Tris. I could tell from that first day we went to her office, you're stuck on her." Rafael paused, noticing Tris running at a steady pace around the room. "And I'm pretty sure she's stuck on you."

Locating Tris in the room was easy, it was like his subconscious was drawn to her. Four's eyes tracked her as she ran. She caught him staring, her pace slowing as she tentatively approached. "So… I talk to the counselor, what if there's nothing I can do? Then what?"

"That's a question for you and Tris to figure out. If she's not giving up on you, then you shouldn't, either. Ever try just relaxing and enjoying her for a second? Hell, enjoying anything without over-thinking it? You're a fucking head case." His comment made Four chuckle a little. Rafael approached Tris with a half smile.

"Is he still mopey?" Tris sighed.

"Christina was stirring the pot for a second, but I think I have him calmed back down. You know, he's the neediest badass I know. I mean, he can outrun, outfight, outshoot anyone here, but he can't seem to think straight."

"He doesn't think he belongs here," Tris offered.

Rafael raised an eyebrow. "Then I guess we all gotta convince him we can't make it without him. You know, we can't give up on him."

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying. He's not making it easy," she huffed.

"You're doing alright. You just can't let him get too distant. Don't let him push you away. Maybe give him something a little extra to keep his focus, bring him in close. Guys like the little incentives just as much as girls."

"Incentives?" Tris cocked her head to the side.

"I think you know what I mean." Rafael wiggled his eyebrows. Tris started to blush at the suggestion. When Four peeked up to meet her eyes, she turned bright red and had to look away.

* * *

Four was always on guard, stiff and cranky when they started their sessions. And all that was true, but he was also on edge and even a little jumpy when she took out her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. He glanced at her, then back down at the wrung out and white-knuckled fingers in his lap. She opened her mouth to start, but was cut off when he stood up and paced. The movement was an effort to soothe the increasing nausea.

"So, Four… something on your mind?" Melissa asked, his anxiety making her nervous.

"I got lots of stuff on my mind." He circled the couch. "I hurt her. I finally did it…" He wanted to kick something, throw something, but circling the couch was the closest he could come to the release he craved.

She stared back at him, shocked. Melissa's assessment had always been that Four was more afraid than he was capable in regards to harming Tris. "Tell me what you did, and how it happened." He didn't miss the sadness in her tone. "And please know, as an immediate threat to Tris, I will have to report you."

"You should, no one else will." He nodded, more resolute than ever. "I get these nightmares, real horrible nightmares. And, I guess sometimes I wake up only I don't wake up, not all the way…. I crushed her. I grabbed her and I crushed her." He was tearing up as he said it, his hands clenched out in front of him. "She's got these bruises on her arms. She won't show me, but they're bad. I can tell they're bad. I could have killed her." His hands were shaking bad enough that he began wringing his fingers in front of him.

"Four, please, sit." She stood and guided him back to the couch, confused by his account. She settled on the cushion next to him, her arms reluctant to leave his shoulders in case he jumped up again. She smoothed his shirt with calming strokes before retracting. "Now, you said you had a nightmare and you hurt her in your nightmare?"

"I woke up, only kind of, and I didn't know it was her, but it was and I hurt her." He spoke fast, his eyes urging her to reprimand him, to help him save Tris and everyone else around him.

"Stop, take a breath, you're confusing me. You had a nightmare and you attacked Tris as part of your nightmare? Or, you physically grabbed her because of what was happening in the dream?"

"Yeah, that. I actually grabbed her, but I didn't know it was her. I guess it was my dream, I don't know. I can't remember them. I can never remember them. I just wake up and I know I had one."

"Four, this sounds like a night terror, or a dissociative episode. We've talked a little before about PTSD and some of the aspects of that condition which are having an effect on you. I'm curious why you didn't mention the nightmares," she stated.

"Everyone has nightmares. And it's not like that's new. I can't even tell you about them. I never remember my dreams. But Tris... you're going to lock me up, right?"

He started with the hard facts of what he did to Tris, to speed them towards his punishment. He expected her to report his abuse, to protect his victim, to confirm him as an imminent threat. But Melissa looked back at him with a kind smile and, with sympathy, explained that his nightmares were a normal symptom of PTSD. She handed him a notebook and told him to write down what he remembered every time he woke up: dreams, nightmares, thoughts, how he felt if he couldn't remember the details. How often he woke up. If he woke up and thought he might have had one the night before. The prescription for sleeping aids said to take as needed, no more than three days in succession.

"You shouldn't be taking these every night. They can disrupt a normal sleep pattern pretty quickly and it may become harder and harder to wake up in the morning. It's like a compounding grogginess. But if you've had a few nights without much sleep, or if you have _someone_ over, these will increase the release of chemicals that aid in the paralysis function of your sleep cycle. It'll keep you from moving around without being conscious."

"So if I have someone over, this will keep me from killing her?" He hadn't shaken his shameful expression yet, despite her explanations.

"This will ensure your body doesn't act out anything in your dreams, yes." She paused before asking, "What was Tris's reaction?"

He tightened his grip on the little bottle, his lifeline to normalcy. "She keeps insisting that I didn't hurt her. That since it wasn't on purpose it's like it never happened."

"And do you accept that?"

"I could have killed her. It wouldn't take more than a couple seconds to do it."

"But do you accept her reasoning?"

"No, not really. I shouldn't be so weak in the first place."

"Four, you went through several significant, traumatic situations over a sustained period of time. It isn't weakness, it's an injury. It's like breaking a bone. You have to set it, and cast it, and let it heal, and then you have to rehab your muscles back to being useful. And sometimes, you break it too badly to ever get it back to where it was, but that doesn't mean you cut off the limb."

The analogy made sense to him, more so than Tris's insistences or Rafael's encouragements. And he did feel better hearing it put into the context of an injury. It made facing Tris's kind smile and persistent presence feel more like therapy than a guilty indulgence. He always felt better, more whole when he was with her.

"Have you always had trouble remembering your nightmares?"

"Yes. But I did remember more of them before. I only remember things occasionally now."

"And what were your nightmares about before all the fighting?"

Four paused, looked down at his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. "Him, mostly. Sometimes other fears from my landscape."

"And the way you've been waking up, with these night terrors, is that how you've always woken up?"

"Mostly. Obviously, I remembered some of them." He swallowed hard. "But, I used to have to change my sheets almost every day. Marcus thought I was wetting the bed, so I'd wake up early, really early, to try and get them through the wash and back on the mattress before he woke up."

"And he'd hurt you if you didn't?"

He let out a scoffing breath. "If I got caught, it would take me longer to scrub out the blood."

Melissa blinked a few times. "Four, it's possible you've been living with the effects of PTSD since your abuse as a child."

"Great," he huffed. "So, she'll never be safe with me… No one will ever be safe with me."

"Negative thoughts…" Melissa reminded him, then opened her notebook. "Choices make the man, not dreams. Just to be sure, I need to know more. How did you feel when you woke up?"

"Scared as fuck."

She winced at his curse. "Scared of dying? Scared of being hurt?"

"Just dread, like something horrible was about to happen. Helpless. Like I couldn't do anything to stop it." His eyes closed, his breaths labored as he recalled the chill of his sweat cooling his body and the constricting effects of adrenaline in his system.

"What else? Did Tris mention anything she witnessed? Something you said? A motion you made?"

"Tris said I called out for a friend of mine to run. When I was…" He measured the length of his exhale and tried to match it to the time it took to fill his lungs. He looked up and waited for her next question.

"Come on, Four, you know I'm going to ask you to tell me all about it. What happened with you and your friend?" she sighed, and he cupped his face before swallowing.

"We worked together. We went out together. Sometimes we got in fights for fun, other times because we had to. I guess I know, or at least I'm pretty sure my dream was about one time when I was walking back to the camps from the bar with Steven. It was dark and there were guys up in the shadows, all lined up. I could tell they were going to jump us, so I tried crossing the road, and Steven was getting nervous, and I was already injured; my ankle was bad. I couldn't outrun them, but I thought maybe I could hold them off and Steven could get back to the camps and get help, or at least come back for my body." He laughed a little. Saying things like that out loud didn't even sound believable to him; it was so far removed from any common experience in Chicago. "Well, Steven took off. I tried, but there were too many of them. They held me down and they cut off my finger, kicked me a few times and left me in the gutter."

Melissa winced and sat up straight. "Did you know them?"

"Not personally."

"But you knew them? Was this a personal attack?" His silence came from trying to hold in the bile, not his reluctance to answer. "Four, how did you know them?"

He took a series of deep breaths and swallows, uneasy to his core with what he was about to admit. "I had an affair with one of their wives." Melissa nodded, accepting. Four felt relief draining the nervousness out of him and filling him with a sudden urge to be rid of it all, to give it to someone else. "…And she got pregnant. I don't know if it was actually mine, but I gave her the money to... take care of it. She got caught sometime after that. I assume it was her husband and his friends."

"Did this woman have the procedure?" Melissa chose her words carefully.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I never found out. Never went looking for her. I didn't want the guy to finish me off."

"And how do you feel about the… um… situation?"

"Horrible. It keeps me up more than anything else."

"What about it do you find is harder than other situations?"

Four contemplated for a bit, gnawing at the healing hole in his lip. "Well, he took off my finger and he didn't even know me. What did he do to her? Did he hurt her or kill her because of me? Or, what if she's pregnant and on the street right now, starving to death? And if she has it… God, I fucked up." The hopelessness swept back in and settled between his shoulders, cramping his muscles.

Melissa could tell his mind was racing with possibilities as he winced and struggled to get his composure. "… At least my dad never walked away. I never had to live on the streets. I am worse than him." Four hung his head.

"If you knew what happened, do you think it would make a difference? If you knew for sure what happened to her, what would you do?" Melissa asked. Four shrugged for both questions.

"I offered to take care of her when she told me, but she wouldn't let me. I guess I'd offer again, make sure she was okay. Make sure the kid was okay."

"And, assuming she's pregnant, what if the baby isn't yours?"

"Doesn't matter. If she's on the street, it's still my fault."

"Do you think all of it was your fault, or do you think she should carry some of that burden?"

"I shouldn't have been using her to make myself feel better. It's not how I was raised. It's unforgivable what I did, not even checking, leaving her like that," he insisted.

"She was a married woman. Do you think she forgot she had a husband?" Melissa challenged, but Four kept his eyes down. "What are some ways you could find out what happened?"

"I know some people still in Milwaukee, I could ask them to look into it. Or, I could just go back, see what happened for myself. Tris would be safer, everyone would be safer."

"I'm going to recommend that you not leave the city, not when we have so much work to do," Melissa admonished. "What's stopped you from reaching out to your contacts?"

"I don't exactly have their full names. I don't even know if they're alive."

* * *

Talk, talk, talk was Melissa's declaration over and over for every situation. That advice set Four on a collision course late in the evening to Lauren's apartment. It wasn't often that he and Zeke fought, or argued over anything substantial. Most of the time they had painfully slow discussions as Zeke pulled information out of him and then delivered advice well beyond his years. But this was different. This was about Tris and her sudden insecurities with the newfound knowledge that he'd recently been with other girls. If things were over with Tris, he needed to ensure that she didn't get hit by the rumor mill if he ever had another moment of weakness. If things weren't over, and they stayed together, he certainly didn't want his indiscretions becoming constant reminders.

He tapped on Lauren's door before trying the handle and gaining entry into the apartment. It was the usual crowd that he expected: George, Lauren, Zeke and Rafael, all playing cards around the kitchen table. They looked up with broad, welcoming smiles and called him over to join.

"I can't, not tonight. I just need a second with Zeke."

"Sit for five, I'm on a streak," Zeke smiled.

"I just need five and you can be back at it."

"We're in the middle of a hand." Four's usually stern affect muddled the urgency of his request.

"Zeke, the fucking game can wait," Four spat with a harshness that dropped the smiles off all the faces, and Zeke stood up slowly, following him out into the hallway.

"What's up?" Four could smell the alcohol on his breath with each word.

"You told her?"

"About what? Who?" Zeke squinted, watching Four pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"You know." The last thing he wanted to do was recite his actions in the middle of the hallway.

"No, man. What? Lauren?"

"Tris. You told Tris," he accused again.

"About?" Zeke raised an eyebrow. Four wasn't sure if he was that drunk or if he was playing dumb.

"About me." He eyed George in the doorway and waited until he disappeared before he dropped his volume and continued, "Me at the fence."

"Well, you didn't. You said you would, but you didn't," Zeke challenged with a shrug.

"It's none of her business what I did when we weren't together."

"Look, you flew off the deep end. She should know the effect she has on you. She needs to take it seriously."

"So tell her I was distraught, don't air my laundry out for her to see."

"It was the right thing to do." Zeke stepped into Four. "She needs to know who she's dealing with."

"And who is that?" Four stepped closer, just inches separating them. Their voices had gotten louder; George peeked out again, concerned.

"Kids…" George warned; Zeke waved him off.

"A girl like her, all she wants is a little loyalty and a little effort. Two things you've hardly given." Four's hands pushed Zeke hard into the wall curling into fists. His arm cocked tight against his shoulder, ready to strike. George stepped out immediately to separate them. "And that! She doesn't need that!"

"All you did is make her compare herself to every other girl here. She can't imagine why I'd be interested, let alone anyone else. That's what you did. How's that good for anyone?" Four shouted over George's shoulder.

"Go cool off." George pushed Four down the hall, walking with him and keeping his hands on him.

"I'm good." He adjusted his jacket and flexed his hands before turning to watch Zeke disappear back into Lauren's apartment. "Said what I needed to."

* * *

Seeing him used to be the highlight of her day, but knowing where he finally stood made their proximity uncomfortable. She waffled back and forth with the need to be near him and the conscious concern that he didn't want her there, or that somehow it was harder for him than her. It hurt worse than she expected when he placed his hand on her back and steadied her while she held the heavy Berretta and aimed. Even worse were the tentative touches that sought to soothe her but ended up sending bullets astray instead. His demeanor towards her resembled him as an instructor, only he spoke instead of barked and was more patient with her; it stung like salt in a wound. When he dismissed her with a curt nod and a subtle smile, Tris was relieved and eager to sulk in the relative privacy of the locker room.

She made brief eye contact with Christina when she came in to change; nowhere was private. Tris tossed her things into her locker and turned towards the door, sidestepping to pass Christina, but she wouldn't let her.

"Tris, I'm sorry. Okay? I was wrong to approach him."

"S'ok. Not like it matters anyways." Tris smiled politely, stepping over a bench to pass her.

"What do you mean?"

"He's done. It's done, so it doesn't matter what happened. It'll never happen again, so you don't have to worry." Christina's heart broke a little watching Tris slip out the door.

Christina changed and followed, but Tris was already lost amongst the crowd. Four was standing nearby, talking to a few members that she didn't know; she leaned against the wall and waited for them to finish. Four deflated when he saw her, arms crossed and waiting. He approached slowly, reluctant to get another tongue lashing, but on another level, he knew he deserved it.

"I haven't done anything. I haven't even really talked to her. Once she's done with drills, I'll leave her alone. I swear."

"You're still here." Christina took a few measured breaths, trying to put together what she wanted to say.

"Yeah."

"Does that mean you're not running away?"

"Looks like you'll have to find another excuse to throw a party, for now." He paused, waited for her to speak up. "Is that it? You just wanted to check my plans?" He chewed his lip a little.

She shook her head. "Do you really think you two could be friends?"

"I'll try to avoid it, I promise." He didn't wait for her response before walking past her towards the exit.

"Four, that's not what I meant." She reached out and stopped him. "You shouldn't listen to us, you know?" He responded by staring blankly, politeness holding him still. "We're trying to be good friends, but it's your life. In the end, you know better than us what's right."

"Ah, the rare Candor almost-apology," he smirked.

"Sort of, I guess. It's the truth, though. You should do what feels right."

"Yeah. Okay." He rolled his eyes.

"Maybe you should listen to her instead. You two can figure this out." Four was surprised by the sudden turn in opinion. For a moment he wondered if it was a joke, but she seemed genuinely sincere.

He'd dismissed her suggestion immediately. But with hours in front of the computer screen to contemplate, he let his eyes relax and scan the screens while he ran scenarios in his head. It wasn't so much the validity of the advice he'd been given that was holding his interest, it was more the idea that he and Tris knew what was best for them and that he should trust in that. While he knew he was dangerous, and there was a chance he'd hurt her again, she knew it as well. Tris was more aware than anyone what he was capable of doing to her. The question that remained was whether or not he trusted her to make her own decisions. He even contemplated the hypocrisy of withholding her choices when he'd been so upset that she'd once taken away his.

A knock on the door drew his attention; he hit pause and turned. The quirked eyebrow and evaluative expression told him all he needed to know.

"Who told you?" Four waited for the disappointment to show.

"Rafael. Honestly? I've kind of wondered why you didn't." Amar settled carefully into the chair next to him, his arms crossed. "So what happened?"

"I mean, he already told you."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Amar persisted.

"My shrink gave me some pills, instructions, more appointments."

"And Tris? She looks like she got kicked in the gut."

Four sighed. "I don't know. I was just thinking about that."

"Maybe for once you should stop thinking."

"Moth, flame, remember?"

"If you don't think your wings are already on fire, you're one dumb moth."

Four frowned. "Maybe I'm burnt to a crisp."

Amar studied the creases in his face for a moment. "That's not because of the fire. I'll admit, I didn't think she was the best match for you. So much has happened, and you were so angry. I didn't want to see you get hurt." Four glared at him. "Hey, I'm allowed to play favorites, you know. I didn't think she was stubborn enough to keep pace with you, but she's proven me wrong."

"Yeah, maybe." Four shrugged.

"It's been months, and she's out there just as hung up on you as she was back at the Bureau. And I know you're spending most your time thinking about her, too. It's really made you a shit soldier." Amar laughed as he said it.

"Gee, thanks." Four rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying. Forget about the moth and the flame for a minute. Do you think Tris is intelligent?"

"Well, yeah."

"And is she weak?"

"No."

"Is she Dauntless?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe you should stop treating her like some common girl from Abnegation. If you pulled this shit on any other Dauntless woman, you'd get your ass kicked in a heartbeat. Respect her. Show her that you trust her and stop getting in the way."

"You're not the first one to say that today."

"Oh?"

Four nodded. "I know you all mean well and that there's some truth somewhere in all of it, but I need to think this through. I'm actually dangerous, Amar. I've done this before to Rafael. It's just…"

"What did your shrink say?"

"I told you, she gave me pills."

"Exactly. She didn't lock you up. She didn't report you. And she certainly didn't tell you to run away to fucking Milwaukee." Amar's voice grew louder with each statement, his anger getting slightly out of control.

Four cringed. "She didn't. And I'm not leaving, not right away."

"You jumped into Dauntless even though you knew you were Abnegation. You defied the leadership and took a job well below your rank. You fell for a girl and together you shut down the simulation. You led a revolution. You went past the fence before anyone else. You have been braver than anyone I have ever known. I can't fathom the idea of you running away now." Amar leveled him with a hard look. "Besides, you can't run away from yourself."

Four wished Amar wouldn't stare at him. The truth behind him leaving would be the assurance of a shortened lifespan. He knew Amar's view on suicide wasn't something he shared with the old Dauntless. No matter how practiced he was at holding his expressions, he couldn't keep Amar from sensing the truth.

"Hey, while I've got your attention. I need someone to come look at the health room. Janice asked me to submit a work request, but if you have a second?"

Four didn't want to head back through the training room. He wanted time alone. "Naw, just put the request in. Someone will pick it up in the next day or so."

"Really, come with me," Amar insisted, his hand wrapping tightly around Four's forearm.

"No." He jerked back. "I'm already in therapy, I don't need Janice spying on me, too."

"Four."

"I just need some time to think. I'm not going to do anything stupid," he sighed. "I swear."

"Okay. I'm trusting you. But if I find you dead tonight, tomorrow, three weeks from now, I don't think I could live with it."

Four had consciously refused to let Amar's prior admission of attraction color their relationship. But the look he saw in Amar's eyes as he begged him not to be rash clearly came from someplace deeper than he'd anticipated.

"I swear, Amar. I wouldn't do that to you." Tobias gripped Amar's shoulder for a second before turning back to the screens. Amar sat for a minute before sighing and leaving quietly.

After his shift, when only a few people were up to meander around the compound, he wandered down to the rocks above the water. He wasn't sure how long he was down there, but his ass hurt in a way that could only mean hours. And the small splash of water had wicked up his pants and soaked him nearly to the knee. He might have even fallen asleep.

Four thought about what it meant to live, what it meant to be deserving. He wasn't even contemplating whether or not he deserved Tris; he was pretty sure he knew that answer. What was bothering him was if he didn't deserve Tris, how did he deserve Amar, or Lauren, or Rafael, or Zeke, or any of the other people who counseled him, put up with him, laughed with him? And why didn't he feel compelled to push them all away like he did Tris? Why shouldn't they also save themselves?

The answer was the same for each one of them: he trusted them to do what was right for them. He trusted them to know him and to judge him and to leave him when they needed to. It wasn't so much that he thought he'd have them forever; he knew he wouldn't. They'd figure out when they were done with him on their own. He didn't want Tris to figure that out. He didn't want to be around when she made that decision.

Still, he thought about Hana and her husband, together until he died; and Janice and her wife, together for over a decade with no sign of stopping. Even George and Amar had worked through George's grief and the transition back to Dauntless together. He admitted to himself that he really wanted something like that: the long relationships, the marriages that were kind and lasted. Those were the promises of Abnegation. That's what they could have had. And if he was going to get anything close to that in his life, he knew it would require a different kind of bravery from now on.

* * *

**Progress? Problems? What's your thoughts on the chapter? I'm paid in reviews, if you like it, hate it, love it... Review it.**


	36. CH36: Shots Fired

**Live from Las Vegas... **

* * *

"Hey everyone! We're playing paintball tonight!" Zeke announced loudly in the locker room. He noted how Four avoided looking at him, the lingering awkwardness between them evident. "You are coming, right?"

Four kept his eyes on the laces of his ankle brace, pulling them tight, then loosening so as not to cut off circulation. "Maybe."

Shauna's freshly-made apple pie and a quarter of a bottle of liquor the day before had gone a long way towards smoothing things over between him and Zeke. There was even a full, overly-dramatic, begging-on-the-floor-for-a-laugh apology. But recalling the original problem with less alcohol in his bloodstream still left Four a little sore about the entire situation.

"You have to come. I know you're not working tomorrow, I already looked."

Four sighed. "When? I sort of made plans."

"What? With who?" Four didn't miss the accusation in Zeke's tone.

"Calm down. I told Christina to tell Tris that I'd help her train, and we'd do some shooting tonight if she wanted." He knew his cheeks were pink by the end of his sentence. He chose to retie his boots, ducking his head.

"Oh, that's good. You're getting past… whatever this latest thing was? Well, I'm sure Tris will play." Zeke had tried to pry the gossip out of Christina, Amar, Rafael, and even Tris herself, but everyone was frustratingly silent.

"I guess... so, what time?"

"Seven. Don't worry, you'll have time to do some training and even digest after dinner."

"Teams?"

"Yeah. You know how I like to play," Zeke said excitedly.

Four moaned a little. "Captains?"

"You, me, maybe Amar, maybe George?" Zeke shrugged. "We'll find at least enough for three, maybe four."

"It's not supposed to rain, is it?"

"Shut up, pansy. Pack better this time." Zeke clapped him on the shoulder. "So, what happened with Tris?"

"Nothing," Four dismissed. Too many people knew already, and despite all the groveling and the booze, he couldn't shake the residual feeling of annoyance when he was around Zeke.

"Fine," Zeke griped. He stood and continued calling out the plans to anyone within earshot.

Tris diligently ran laps around the training room floor, knowing Four had disappeared into the locker room and that he'd have to come out eventually. Regardless of how much he was trying to avoid her or put distance between them, she couldn't help but hope that his offer to help her with her shooting was proof that she had gotten him to understand that it was not his fault. She didn't blame him, she wasn't hurt, and she wasn't going anywhere. She knew she was probably being naїve, but his invitation to continue to train together felt like a good sign — that he would at least allow her to be his friend.

He stepped out, cracked his neck, and focused on stretching his legs before breaking into a fast jog to warm up. She liked running opposite him on the loop. His pace pushed her, propelled her faster, and he was less likely to notice her watching him as he moved. When her legs couldn't keep up and he gained ground on her, he slowed and took up her pace, eventually following her back to the punching bags. She slowed herself further to walk next to him. Being around him was her choice, and he enjoyed her blushing glance.

Tris couldn't help but smile when she noticed the ring was out of his lip, a small hole in its place. She hoped he had taken it out because of what she said. "Are you going tonight?" she asked, digging in the bin to find the smallest pair of gloves. Her ear was still ringing from Zeke's booming announcement right next to her head.

He wanted to say something cheesy, like 'only if you are', but even having the thought threatened to make him blush. Instead he responded, "Looks like it, you?" Four hoped it came out nonchalantly as he took the extra precaution of taping his right hand.

"I'd like to."

"Save your strength if you are. It's gonna suck enough tomorrow if you end up being out all night," he commented, handing her a matching glove. He fought the smile that threatened to crack across his face; being happy in front of members was bad for managing them in drills.

"Oh, wait. I don't have any dark clothes with me." She pointed at her faded yellow shirt. "I'd just give my team away."

He felt a surge of anxiety shoot through him; he wanted her to go, to be near him all night. Maybe they'd guard the flag together, and he would have a chance to talk some things through with her.

"I'm sure Christina has something you can borrow."

"She's on patrol already and I don't have my key on me. I'll just have to sit this one out."

"You can borrow a shirt from me. It'll be big, but you don't seem to mind that." He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual motion.

"Yeah, okay. But… then I'll have to work on my shooting tomorrow instead. Maybe I shouldn't go. I need to focus." She realized that choosing to come to the punching bags first had probably cost her the close proximity of the range.

"It's okay, we'll take a bit of extra ammo and practice longer. There's no reason for us to miss paintball," he offered, and her face brightened.

He held her bag while she worked on her punches, critiquing her stance when she started to tire. He smiled when he caught himself considering how relaxing this routine could be. They would go to work, fit in some training afterwards, and then they would go home together. He briefly indulged before allowing his inner monologue to dash his hopes with stark reality. Tris could still realize what it meant to be with someone like him, and then she'd be gone.

She had to use all of her body weight to steady the bag for him as he hammered out his emotions. The rhythmic pattern to his strikes was unwavering, and he only paused long enough to let her adjust her grip. His face was blank, his eyes focused only on the bag. Every thought that spurted through his head only seemed to insult him for his cowardice; he should have told her his decision already. But admitting it was more nerve-wracking than the first time around.

Tris started to get nervous; it felt like she was there more as a prop than out of preference. She needed to engage him, get him talking to her so she could try and tell where she stood, but holding a conversation while he worked his way through set after punishing set of punches wasn't practical. She waited outside the locker room while he rummaged for a few things he might need before they headed to the dining hall.

She looked a little more alive surrounded by others who were equally excited for paintball. She felt a little freer to laugh, and even got carried away exchanging some trash talk with the other members at their table. When Zeke threw her some compliments, it made the hair prickle on the back of Four's neck.

It was hard for Four to keep his glances casual and his comments somewhat impersonal. He felt protective of her, and guilty over being jealous at the same time. If he had already told her what was on his mind, he wouldn't be shy about making his feelings known. But they weren't strictly among friends, and being public about it didn't sit well with him.

While he watched her fit in on her own merits, separate from being with him, the confusing mixture of pride and uselessness made observing her more fascinating. Her oblivious responses to the mild flirting and advances from the others was somewhat comforting, even if he was growing more concerned about Zeke's intentions. More than anyone else at the table, Zeke was flirting with Tris in his obvious, braggadocio manner, the one which Four had seen most often reserved for Shauna. Even though Zeke had a tendency to flirt with all the girls, this was different. Zeke switched from animated conversation and compliments to plopping peas into her cup, making her laugh and squeal. Her retaliation — using her foot to find a bruise on Zeke's leg — was enough to force him off the fence.

When Zeke had settled and she'd calmed down, he reached his hand out, and rubbed slow circles on her lower back. Tris took in a sharp breath and sat up straighter when she felt his fingertips, and Four blushed a little when her eyes came up to meet his. Zeke winked at him the next time he glanced over: so much for privacy.

With twenty minutes until they were due to meet in the Pit, Four unlocked his door and sheepishly gave her the option to stay in the hall. Tris followed him in and awkwardly stood on the mat while Four combed the room, trying to recall where he'd stashed his older clothes.

Tris shadowed him across the room; Four collided with her when he quickly turned to consider the front closet. His lips lifted on one side in a smirk as he gripped her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing affectionately against her arm. To the other factions, Dauntless especially, touch was second nature. They didn't think twice about their bodies, about holding hands or grabbing arms or slapping backs during even the most mundane conversation. But the Abnegation never lost track of anything, especially their proximity to others. Even though Four was well integrated into his friend group, he still didn't do much more than smack at Zeke or stiffly hug Lauren. Even Tris had often found herself uncomfortable in the company of her friends. Four's conscious touch — first at dinner, then in the center of his apartment — meant more. Tris looked down at his right hand, his thumb still moving on the inside of her bicep, and watched it quickly spring open and retract.

She saw the hesitant expression take over his face, the mouthed apology that fell silent before the end. He stared at her, his eyes flitting between hers and her mouth. Awkwardness flooded her stomach, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Four's lips rolled together and he stepped back an inch, exhaling with an expression of relief.

"Shirt? Jacket?" her voice was barely audible.

He quickly stepped over to a stack of drawers as Tris looked around at the immaculate room. He ruffled through them with a mutter.

"Yeah, right here. You're in luck, I still have this." He passed her a smaller jacket and a long-sleeved shirt.

She recalled Amar's statements about Four as an initiate, but couldn't visualize him crammed into the miniature confines of the jacket. She lifted it, sizing it up in comparison to his frame, then examined the shirt. He was watching her intently, eyebrows arched in waiting. Even if he didn't want to kiss her, she knew he wouldn't turn down a glimpse.

"Turn around," she chastised, a small smile on her face.

He could tell from the reflection in the window that she'd put her back to him. Impulsively, he snuck a peek over his shoulder and was transfixed. Four dark spots marred the white skin across her taut back: two entry wounds on her left shoulder, one on her right ribs, and one on her right side. Every mark was proof that she had survived, and each one seemed like a miracle to him. The contrails of reconstruction were still pink, the source of so many of her reservations. Nausea swept through him seeing the deep purple bruises on her arms, each one a vivid hue not unlike grape jelly on white cotton. It made him question every assurance he'd been given. He jerked his head forward when the shirt slid down her back.

"It'll be like capture the flag in initiation, right?" She broke the silence between them as she pulled on the jacket, marveling at how it was still several sizes too big for her.

"There are similarities. It depends on how many people are playing, and if Zeke can get everyone to agree on the rules. The biggest difference? When you're shot, you're done. And you could be out all night if you're the one stuck babysitting the flag." He hesitated to turn back to her, afraid to get caught, until she cleared her throat loudly. His evaluation was quick and to the point, without lingering on any one place. "It fits you better than I thought it would. You should keep it."

Four was reluctant to touch her after the reminder of what he did, even as he told himself that she wasn't as breakable as her scars and the bruises might imply. He pushed her with just his fingers on her lower back. "Zeke won't wait for us, so we better move."

Zeke had gotten nearly a hundred people gathered, all of them excited and shouting while they waited in the Pit. There was a quick discussion about how many teams and how many per team. Zeke and Four argued briefly, but decide on four. Each team had a little set of identifying flags for everyone to wear, and one large one to hide and protect. It was decided that the game wouldn't end until one team had all four flags, or the sun came up. Tris was amused to see Four roll his eyes: that must have been the part he didn't like. She didn't expect him to have lost early, ever.

Four, Zeke, and George had their own teams, and Ro had the fourth. There was a small competition with each one striking each other's knuckles until someone flinched. George gave Four a hard crack with a little bit of a maniacal grin; Four recoiled and shook his hand frantically before forming a fist and preparing for the next shot. This time he flinched. It ended with Zeke picking first. When he selected Tris in the next breath, he shrugged off Four's sideways glance and the murmurs of the Pit.

"Uh, she's a first-ranked. And she's smart," Zeke defended as he smiled broadly, looping his arm around her shoulder. "I'll take good care of her."

It clarified in Four's mind the need for a discussion of boundaries. Tris shrugged Zeke off with a chuckle before she collected her flags, selected paintballs, and pulled a gun from the stack.

They continued to divvy up people before deciding the order for jumping off using another round of painful knuckle-cracking and flinches. Four was at a disadvantage: the injuries from the first round were exacerbated by his insistence on only having one hand cracked. He ended up bloodied and in third. Zeke lost to George, and Ro had fallen out quickly; it was his strategy to get off last.

Ro exchanged a few tips with Tris as they settled on the train. When bodies moved and Tris tipped forward, he steadied her and continued his advice with a laugh. Four was quick to slide closer to her, distracting her from the conversation with his hand on her lower back, receiving another exasperated sigh from Ro as they exchanged a challenging glare. When Tris continued her conversation with Ro, Four rolled his eyes at his triumphant smile. Dejected, Four shoved his right hand deep in his pocket and sucked at the wounds on his left knuckles. Tris kept tabs on his pouty, annoyed expression, and tried not to smirk in amusement.

When Four let out a wide yawn that brought his shoulders up around his ears, she put a sharp elbow in his side to jostle him awake. He swayed back into her with a slight smile.

"I might have to bail if it goes too late," she warned when Ro started rallying his team. "I have a meeting tomorrow morning at ten."

"That's why they invented caffeinated beverages." He was happy to finally have her attention, and his hand easily found hers.

"So, you guys going to go to the Pier?" she asked innocently, flexing her fingers between his and taking measured breaths.

"Oh, no. You're getting nothing from me, traitor. And keep your guard up with Zeke. That guy's been known to shoot first, ask later. Lots of friendly fire."

"Sure, but that wouldn't be an excuse or anything," she placated. She could feel her face heat up with every circle of his thumb.

George's team jumped from the first train car. Ro and some of his team watched them land. A few even craned out to see if they could tell where they were going.

"The park seems to have some advantages." Tris dropped his hand to check the action on the gun and to try and clear her thoughts.

Four shook his head, reclaiming his grip on her fingers and smiling at the surge of energy. "Nice try. I have no hints."

The next team started to gather their packs. Fearing a rebuff if she moved too fast, she resisted her urge to touch his arm or seek anything more from him than he was offering. A few touches to her back and hand holds in the dark didn't mean anything, not in the long run. A twinge in her chest pushed her to step forward and start lining up.

"Stay at Christina's, okay?" Four asked, stepping up with her.

"No key, remember." She shrugged. Immediately, she hoped he would shove his key into her hand and ask her to wait for him there. Nearly as quickly, she felt disgusted with the level of desperation that thought reflected.

"If she's not back yet, go to George and Amar's," he suggested. "Don't walk home alone."

"Couldn't if I wanted to. I'm not allowed, remember. Besides, I'm not going home until the sun comes up," she teased. She distracted herself from her doubts about everything that was happening by re-examining the wear on her gun.

"Uh-huh. Keep your eyes open, I'll be coming. And don't think I'll have mercy on you," he warned. He hesitated and flicked his glance around the train before he stacked some extra paintballs into her pocket. She took a breath and launched out, landing on the embankment and rolling to a painful stop at the bottom. Four leaned out as soon as the others had jumped, but he couldn't spot her in the crowd.

"Team blue!" Zeke called into the dark to bring them together around him. He pointed at her, "Okay. Strategy. Tris, go."

"What, me?"

"Yeah, you're the smart one." They all looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Four's going to be getting off third, Ro fourth. I bet Four stays close to us, not five minutes down the line. He's going to want to get to us first because he can control how close he is, but Ro's a wild card." She paused and looked down at the sandy gravel while she contemplated out loud, "We have two choices. We know where George got off, so we could all move that way. We'd be further than Four would assume, which could buy us some time to get George then come back for Four. Or, we can stay put and let both of them come to us, but risk Ro coming in the thick of it. Or maybe Ro just sits and waits for the last ones to come find him."

"Well, I guess let's go get George," Zeke decided. "Move out across the tracks to the north side and then west, double time from the turn. Quick and quiet."

She fell in line a few strides behind Zeke, but soon tired to the back. They moved in small groups of three between the buildings, checking around each corner, knowing that George's team could be moving directly towards them or circling around. Within the mandatory ten minutes, they found an old church and left a slim, three-person team with their flag inside the bell tower. The first splash of rain felt like someone spit on her cheek, but there wasn't anyone close enough.

"Okay, split out everyone. Go out at a radius of three buildings then back. If you encounter anyone, call it out. Mind your blindsides. If it starts raining any harder, Four's going to hole up with his flag, but that doesn't mean his team isn't coming."

Zeke tugged on her jacket and dragged her for a few steps. She knew she was with him because he said he'd keep her safe, or maybe because he thought she'd be helpful if they had to regroup. Another girl fell in beside Tris, but they didn't exchange names. Tris shuffled behind him in the shadowed side of the alleys, each time checking around the corner from her knee while Zeke covered from standing, the other girl taking the opposite direction before sprinting across the gap. Shuffle, turn, check, check. Shuffle, turn check, check. The pattern was getting boring.

Thwap! A paintball burst above her head and she pulled back out of the way.

"Blue!" Zeke called out his color.

"Red meets blue!" A member of George's team called.

Zeke returned fire. Tris turned to watch their backs while the other girl kept the front with Zeke. The rest of team blue quickly scurried out of alleys and buildings and into the fight.

"Hey, Zeke. Get me on top of the building," Tris suggested.

"What?" He crouched next to her, wiping the steadying rain out of his eyes.

"Come on, it's not that far." Tris looked up and pulled a bin over to help cover the last few feet. "Give me a leg up," she commanded.

"No. Four will kill me if you get hurt."

She challenged him with a grin. "Does he frighten you more than a paintball to the face? Come on, up."

Reluctantly, he boosted her up and onto the roof, catching her when her grip slipped on the roof's edge. He sent the other girl, too, just to be on the safe side, and huddled against the building to take aim. The red team fell quiet, and the shooting stopped. The girls had to pick their path carefully around the perimeter — parts of the roof had crumbled through in the center. Each one took a corner, quietly setting up above team red. Red was preparing for a small frontal assault with a flanking maneuver around the other side of the building. With the sound of the rain drowning out their steps, red was unaware until they were covered in paint from above.

Zeke and the remaining blue team came around the corner to finish the assault and try and extract their flag location. It was an interesting custom: Tris watched Zeke shoot each refusing member, at close range in the butt or leg, with her feet dangling over the edge of the roof. She hesitated before trusting him to catch her, letting the other girl go first before hopping down.

Tris shuffled out with her team as soon as she was safely back on the ground. Zeke selected three members specifically to find red's flag and sent them out. Zeke tugged her arm once again, pulling her along to set up a perimeter to wait for Four's team. The other girl had disappeared with the rest of the team, leaving the two of them alone. Soaked through, they found an open building with a good view of a broad cross street and sat in a third story window.

"I think Ro got him," Zeke commented, shaking out his jacket and pulling out a bottle of water.

"Maybe," Tris wasn't convinced.

"It's nice having your brain this time around." Zeke offered her a drink. "Adds a bit to the scenery, too."

"Uh-huh," she rebuffed before taking a sip and passing it back.

He tried again at softening her. "You know, I like Dauntless better with you in it. Puts those other girls on guard having you around. You're not very intimidating at first, but that fight with Lauren has left an impression."

"Mmhmm."

"Four's better with you, too."

"And I've been trying," she snapped, getting annoyed quickly.

"Four would be amazing with you in Dauntless. Can't stop talking about you," he layered.

"Zeke," she sighed, "I don't need more pressure. My shooting sucks. And you don't have to lie about Four. He doesn't talk about me."

"Okay, okay. He doesn't talk about much of anything, though. Just trying to be encouraging."

"Can't just snap our fingers and fix things, can we?" she mumbled.

"Shooting or Four?"

"Both."

"Easy, get more time in at the range. You're good on the wall and stuff, so we can switch the focus over. I can even work with you some more. And Four, well… forgive, forget already, and fast track to the make-up sex. I can't even imagine how good that's gonna be," he said, even though it was obvious he was doing exactly that. His eyes refocused and he gave his head a slight shake. "What's stopping you two?"

"He doesn't seem to like me as much as he did." It was an easier lie than explaining how afraid he was of hurting her.

"Oh, no. He likes you. He likes you _a lot_. In my opinion, my _very_ humble opinion, I think he doesn't like himself very much. And that makes him think he isn't up to your standards," Zeke offered. Tris couldn't help but smile at Zeke's perceptive statement.

"Maybe, but there's not a whole lot being talked about even though we're getting along. Even if things were perfect between us, there's still his goddamned secrets."

"Four, secrets? No!" Zeke feigned scandal. "You mean like his actual name? Or that fucking mural on his back? Or his fake relationship with Lauren? Yeah, I know about that one," he said, tossing a glance at Tris who didn't seem phased by anything he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you never get to the bottom of the secrets. Secrets on secrets on secrets… but at a certain point, you have to decide if knowing what they are adds or subtracts from him. You might need to let him have some of his secrets."

"Zeke, the philosopher. Mighty words of wisdom."

He dropped his eyes for a moment, smiling a sullen smile. "I have my moments. But I think I'm paraphrasing something he told me once." Zeke took a breath, steadying himself in a way that Tris had never seen before. "Uriah…" He paused, clearing the hoarseness from his throat. "Uriah used to just disappear for hours — days, once or twice — and we couldn't find him. And when we asked, he would lie. Bold-faced lies. Mom punished him so many times. I thought I would have to torture it out of him. I was trying to bribe Four to track him on the cameras, but he stepped in with his little nugget of wisdom, and he was right. Uriah wasn't out being a bad kid or causing trouble, because we would have heard about it. He was just out being Uriah. It didn't matter where he went or what he did, and knowing the specifics wouldn't change that he was a good kid. So I let him be."

"Did you ever find out?"

"Nope." He paused before a bit of excitement laced his tone. "It still drives me nuts. He just slipped out past the cameras, no note, no nothing. The little shit. It's stupid, but when things get hard, I still pretend that's the case. I guess I just make up a life for him now. Like, I pretend he's out fishing or romancing some chick. Like, I might catch him at some factionless brothel when I'm out on patrol. I like thinking he's out there, having a good time. Sneaking around, still."

Tris glanced down, trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes. She'd had bad days. She'd had whole months of bad days. "Does it help?"

"Yeah, most of the time. It's easier to think he's somewhere rather than nowhere. His birthday is next week. Or was next week. Is… was… whatever. We planned on patrolling together until he got ranked second. Little shit didn't end up so little, I guess." He smiled at her, his eyes a bit watery; her hand fell on his forearm and squeezed reassuringly. His eyes snapped from her fingers to the movement in his periphery while he cleared his throat, thankful for the distraction. He chuckled, then tapped the window sill and pointed: up the street, a team stalked in the shadows, barely visible.

"Can't see the colors," Tris murmured, wiping her eyes as she pushed herself closer to the window.

Zeke looked through the sights, then lowered his gun. "These things aren't accurate this far away, especially not wet." They waited, watched them make a turn into an alley, saving them from their view.

"Amar said you guys used to get into trouble a lot. He made it seem like you were the ringleader of a bunch of hooligans."

He laughed. "Oh, yeah. Kind of was."

"So, tell me about it?"

"Um, let's see. We were put on meal restrictions for three weeks for burning the word 'penis' into the Pit floor. Then we each got an extra week of drills for shooting out the lights in the training room, but that was just us being drunk. Oh! The best is definitely when Four got six weeks of kitchen duty when I broke his ribs," he bragged.

"How does that happen?"

"I punched him."

"No, him getting punished for you breaking his ribs."

Zeke chuckled. "Funny thing about Four and that temper. He used to be really bad about controlling it. Way worse than now, I don't care what he says. He started so many fights, he was on, like, triple probation with Max. One Friday night, I hooked him up with Lauren — their first date. Probably their only _real_ date. We were at dinner and he said something to her, something sort of rude or demeaning, so she challenged him to spar in the training room. He hates fighting girls, so I stepped in and challenged him instead. And I broke his ribs."

"So you won?"

"No, the bastard broke my nose and gave me a concussion. Members can spar, but you're not supposed to go, like, full contact outside of drills. Normally, leadership overlooks it, but not that time. And since his track record was worse, he got the harsher punishment. He's probably the best potato peeler in Dauntless. Just gotta be the best at everything."

They laughed, trying to hush the sound before falling silent when they heard the creak of a board behind them. The pain spread out from her right shoulder across her back, where the welt would be forming; she laughed and moaned at the same time.

Tris flopped over on her back when Zeke dramatically fell against the wall, laughing. "Who are you?"

"Yellow meets blue." It was Four, standing on top of them. He was aiming down his barrel, rainwater dripping off his jacket. "Where's the flag?" he asked, pointing the gun squarely at Zeke, who promptly covered his crotch and declined to comment. Four shot him once in the leg.

"Tris, where's the flag?" he asked, pointing the gun at her. She thought for a second that he wouldn't shoot her, but paintball was serious. "Rules are rules," he stated, releasing two shots into her thigh.

"Ow! Two? You jerk," she moaned. He held out his hand; she let him pull her up. "I guess that means I can go to bed now."

Four glanced out the window at the downpour.

"Oh, knock it off, you pansy!" Zeke exclaimed.

Four looked at him and gave a huff.

"What?" Tris asked, picking her gun up off the floor and wiping the debris from her grimy hands onto her pants.

"Nothing."

"Four _hates_ being stuck in the rain, like he's gonna melt or something. News flash! You're certainly not made of sugar." Zeke picked up his jacket and shook it again before putting it on. Four didn't follow when he started to move. "You can stay here if you want, but you're not gonna win sitting on your ass. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go get some sleep."

Four reluctantly walked her down the stairs to the main level, all the while scanning for more blue. He stopped in the doorway, watching as Zeke started to jog his way back to the train tracks. He caught her arm before she could follow.

"Did you and Zeke have fun?" he asked.

Tris didn't miss his emphasis on Zeke's name; she looked anxiously after him. "I have to go… If I'm by myself, they'll extend the tracking."

"I'll make sure you get back, just talk a while." She was reluctant to wait all night to go home, but felt rooted in place by his request. "Did you have fun?"

"Until you shot me." An odd feeling of being interrogated snuck into her shoulders.

"Rules are rules, no favoritism," he stated, relaxing his grip and sliding his hand down to hers.

"Favoritism? You're not my instructor anymore." She stared at their hands, at the way his thumb began its familiar, circular path.

"Okay, so I liked shooting you. I'd do it again." He nudged her with the barrel, the playfulness clear in tone, the smile that had crept onto his face.

She took a chance and let a round pop into his lower leg. "What's fair is fair," she snickered while he hopped to kill the sting.

"That was much closer range!"

"Maybe, but it wasn't two."

Four snatched her gun with a daring expression, raising his own slightly, towards her stomach. She kicked his and managed to snatch hers back out of his hand in his moment of surprise. She aligned it back just lower than his belt. They did a little side-to-side dance before Four rushed her and locked his arms, pinning her gun to her side and dropping his entirely.

His intentions were to just hold onto her, hug her, maybe tease her about losing. But her hands struggled up against him, and a momentary panic flooded through him. Afraid he was hurting her, he froze, but her clear and loud laugh reassured him. The smell of her, humid in his nose, easily changed his desires. He pressed his lips against hers, harder than he meant to, but relaxed into something sweet and comforting. She stopped struggling, and when he loosened his grip, one of her hands found his lower back. Four pulled away and rested his lips against her forehead, smiling with a vague sense of relief. He could make it work; he would make it work.

She pulled the trigger and let a round slam inches away from the welt forming on his lower leg.

"Dammit!"

"Even!" She kissed him quickly, only to have him catch her and hold her to something longer.

"And you think you need more range time? Shit, that hurts."

She cocked her head to the side. "Doesn't it?"

"Stay at Amar's, okay?" he asked, reiterating his earlier request as he tapped his toe on the ground to drive out the rest of the sting. "It's closer, and you'll get more sleep than if you get someone to take you home." He smoothed her hair back behind her ear.

"Yeah, okay. If I can even get back to the compound now. Zeke's long gone." She pushed the flat of her knuckles against his stomach, feeling the solid muscle underneath.

"It's okay, everyone meets up to walk back in groups. I'll show you." He held her hand as they moved from one building to the next, pausing in doorways and under overhangs to try and avoid the rain as they made their way towards the tracks.

When they made it to the last overhang, she pulled up and lifted their hands. "Can I see you tomorrow? I think we should talk. About all this."

"Yeah, we should," he nodded.

Ro and Zeke gave them a long glance while they talked, both obviously waiting for her. She gave Four's hand a squeeze before she jogged out, joining them in the walk back along the train tracks. Four watched Zeke get smacked in the arm for some comment before he turned and trotted back out to find flags.

* * *

**Many thanks to my life coach Milner and the ever enviable, BK2U for the help.**


	37. CH37: As Clear as a Muddy Mess

**The usual thanks to Milner and BK2U for their assistance.  
**

* * *

The rain outside made the train yard soupy. Mud splattered Tris up to her thighs, flooding the tops of her boots with water when she landed. Just behind her, Christina slipped and slid headlong into a puddle. She scrambled up, picking small stones out of her bra. Her screeching complaints were dimmed by the white noise of the pouring rain, but not enough to stop Tris from laughing hysterically. She doubled over, watching as Christina slipped back down before making it to her knees. Not an ounce of her body was compelled to help, which got her a glare that only made her laugh harder.

"Not funny."

"Karma," Tris shrugged, though she did help rescue the contents of Christina's bag. As soon as she was within reach, she felt her legs go out from under her, and the muck flooded into her shirt and pants.

They were dripping, muddy, and loud when they burst through the doorways, and it was Tris's turn to take a fall.

"Karma, eh?" Christina smirked, while Tris moaned and grabbed at her head.

"What the fuck?" Anxo looked at the two of them, then at the splattered mud all over the floor. "You're cleaning this up, now!" He pointed them towards the maintenance closet.

Tris gingerly hobbled down the hall, uncertain if she'd broken or bruised her tailbone. She jerked open the closet door, slamming it back shut just as quickly.

"What?" Christina approached the door, watching Tris back away, blubbering and pointing. Zeke was peeking out before she had the chance to investigate. "Shit! What are you doing?" She clapped a hand over her eyes.

"Just, like, five minutes," he stated, already shutting the door.

"Five? Ten," Shauna protested from within.

Christina looked back at Anxo. "Ten minutes?"

Tris and Christina waited much longer than ten minutes. It was long enough for the mud to dry on the tips of Christina's hair and for the water across the floor to have injured two others who weren't paying attention. Anxo glared at them the entire time, unamused, but still not compelled to interrupt.

"What happened to you?" Four eyed the pair standing shoulder to shoulder like punished children — neither responded. "What's going on?" he addressed Anxo more specifically.

"I'm stuck on hall monitor duty, Jerry's sick. Come on, you're Maintenance. Get maintaining." Anxo pointed at the floors, only losing his poker face when Four's back was turned.

Four approached cautiously, eyeing Tris and Christina for an explanation. They were having a hard time holding their faces and it made him nervous. The door whipped open so fast it caught him in the shoulder, knocking his feet out from under him.

"'Scuse us." Shauna blushed as she carefully stepped around and past him on her crutches. Zeke just winked and grinned.

"Gross," Four moaned, rubbing the heel of his right hand where he'd cushioned his fall.

"Well, get cleaning," Anxo ordered. Tris and Christina jumped into action, but hesitated at the doorway; Tris's nose curled.

Four rolled his eyes and pushed past them, taking a mop and a bucket out from the closet before uncoiling a small hose. He filled the bucket, added some soap, and pushed the mop towards Christina. "I assume you made most this mess?"

"I got it," Tris smiled, breaking the tension between them. Christina grabbed a caution sign and another mop. It made Four uncomfortable to just watch, and he had a meeting to make with Amar. He took the mop from Christina and handed her a bucket to fill and swap instead.

"You don't have to help. You're not the one covered in mud," Tris commented.

"Yeah, well, if I don't, we won't have time to talk."

Tris's stomach fluttered. "You still want to talk?"

"You said we should. I think we should." He started to second guess himself. "I mean, if you... I guess I got other things I can do."

"No, we should talk. I just didn't think you'd actually want to. I know it's not really something you like to do."

"When it's important…" He took the mop out of her hand and handed it to Christina. "We'll just be a few minutes or so." He flashed a quick smile before surprising Christina by taking Tris's hand and leading her away.

"So..." He squeezed her hand before dropping it, leading her down the little hallway where he'd comforted her about Al. She immediately eyed the space above the water fountain. "The camera's not working right now. Still haven't gotten them all up after the paintball party. But don't tell anyone that," he smirked.

"Okay."

"So?"

"Oh, me?" Tris started to hem and haw, not sure where to start.

"I can go first, I guess." He cleared his throat and felt his pulse quicken. "I can't promise that I can make it work between us..."

Tris let out a breath and relaxed her shoulders. Her lip quivered for a moment before she nodded and steadied herself.

"So, that's it? I ...you... well... if that's how you feel... Do you want me to quit?"

"Tris, no. I meant I can't make any promises, but I won't say no if you want to try. It's your choice, and I'm open to it. With the right pills, more therapy... Then again, if you want to wait for me to become who I should be, or if that's just too long, I won't blame you."

"You're exactly who you should be already," Tris assured him.

He shook his head, but offered her the choice anyways. "So? What do you want?"

"You're open to trying what? Like, you want to hook up or..."

He almost rolled his eyes. "Date, Tris. I want to take you out again. Like a real date, like when we had that picnic in the city center. You know, get to know you all over again. Do this right for once."

"Oh. Okay," she blushed. "I'd like that."

They stared at each other awkwardly, both suddenly nervous and lost, with red faces and small grins. He took a big breath before offering her his left hand.

"Okay," Tris grinned, stepping in closer to take it. "So a date? What do you have in mind?"

"Well, umm... I really liked being up in Amity with you. That was a good day. Would you like to go back up with me, maybe alone this time?"

"Not for work?"

"Not for work."

"Yeah, sure. When?"

"When's your next day off?"

"Saturday."

Tobias wrinkled his nose. "I'm working, Sunday?"

"Sure, I can switch my days. So Sunday?"

"Yep. Leave on the first train. Come back whenever we feel like it."

"And, what do we do between now and then?"

Four shrugged, pulling her in closer. "Maybe keep it like usual: some dinner, training, talking. I don't think we should jump right back into this, not headfirst."

"Okay. What's not allowed? Can I hug you, or is that too fast? We can pretend yesterday didn't happen," she asked, immediately wishing she didn't sound so desperate.

He wrapped his arms around her, allowing the still damp mud to rub off onto him, and willingly resigned himself to resting his cheek against her temple. "I'm not forgetting yesterday. I don't want to forget any day with you. And hugging is not fast at all. I don't want to overthink this, I really don't. But I need time to make sure you're safe with me. That's all I mean. Like, put me on probation or something," he chuckled.

"I'm all out of potatoes to peel."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just something Zeke said."

"That guy has to learn to shut the hell up," he laughed.

* * *

While he was being more affectionate — holding her hand and a couple of pecks to her temple — Four didn't make finding time alone easy. He carefully constructed his schedule, adding shifts on the maintenance team to offset when he wasn't in the control room. All of it specifically so that he'd be heading to work right after dinner every night without fail. He wanted to catch up on all the time they'd missed, but he knew what was under the large, long-sleeved sweaters and the careful, assuring smiles.

It wasn't until Thursday, when she finally had on a t-shirt that Tris was freer in the way she teased him and he felt more comfortable flirting back. While she had seemingly forgotten once the marks were faded to dull yellow, he hadn't, and he couldn't quite give himself the freedom to act on his impulse to be around her.

"Go home, Four," Harrison called from his office, seeing him pass on the way to the control room.

Four stepped back and looked at him curiously. "I have a shift."

"Not anymore. You have a night off," Harrison corrected, not taking his eyes off his papers.

"I'm fine, really. The work keeps me busy, and it's too late to find a cover."

"There aren't any new files from Candor, and I can tell from the maintenance log that there's nothing outstanding in the system. And you haven't taken a night off in six days, I think we can survive one night of just facility patrols."

"I like to work. I don't burn out easy," Four challenged.

"Too bad. You're not working tonight, so go home. And that's an order." Four raised an eyebrow at the command. "Are you not a soldier? You're dismissed!" Harrison barked.

Four retraced his steps back down towards the dining hall, hoping he'd slip by the rest of his friends on his way to his apartment. But they were loitering in the hallway, Zeke trying to get Shauna to juggle apples and the rest making small talk and laughing. Four kept his head down and turned the corner, but caught Lauren's eye.

"Where you going?" she called out. He pulled up with a grimace and turned to them.

"Back to my apartment," he shrugged.

"Thought you were working?" Zeke gave him a sly smile that indicated his involvement in Four's sudden night off.

"Apparently, I was mistaken."

"Good, come to the bar." Zeke took the apples from Shauna and helped her situate her crutches.

"I'm sort of tired."

"You've been on night shifts, you're not tired. Nothing crazy, Four, just a couple drinks. Take a break for once."

Shauna started down the hallway. Tris looked up at him with a hopeful smile, and walked quietly next to him as the entire group moved towards the Pit. She reached out and threaded her fingers with his, only to feel him jerk away. She stutter-stepped and tossed him a glare, but he didn't offer any explanation. Four jammed his right hand into his pocket so she wouldn't make the same mistake.

It wasn't how he wanted to start their interactions; it established an obvious awkwardness between them. Still, their friends pushed them together at the table. Rather than showing her hurt, Tris stubbornly ignored him. Four had been more than happy to show affection in the privacy of vacant hallways, and it stung not being able to do that in front of their friends. She didn't understand that it had nothing to do with how public the display, but rather the soreness of his hand.

When Ro appeared, asking for a dance, Four stiffened at the eagerness with which Tris agreed. He glowered with Shauna while they both watched their partners on the floor.

"So, you just playing with her or are you making things official?" Shauna asked.

"We're going to try. I'm supposed to take her on a date on Sunday. I haven't completely figured out what I'm going to do yet," he admitted.

"Well, Ro seems to really like her."

"Apparently. Guy's like a mosquito."

"And he's getting bolder. Probably because you're not doing anything about it," she suggested.

"It's her choice who she dances with."

"You're not exactly making yourself an option."

"We're going out on Sunday." He sprinkled a little salt on the table to make spinning the glass easier, to keep his eyes away from Tris.

"And yet, you're out with her tonight, barely even talking to her, being your standard asshole self. That has to be confusing." He grunted in response. Shauna continued, "You gotta make a decision. He's going to take whatever she gives him, and if you're doing nothing, she'll eventually realize he's flirting. And when she starts thinking someone other than you has the hots for her, watch out!"

Shauna leaned into him feigning the need to examine Tris and Ro through the bodies. "See the way he's got his hands on her hips? How close to her boobs do you think he has to get for her to realize he's trying to feel her up? Maybe he goes down, grabs a bit of ass."

"Stop it, Shauna." Four couldn't help the short glances.

"Get off the fence, Four." She sipped at her drink as they both watched Ro's hands start south.

Four usually needed to be very drunk before he'd let himself look foolish on a dance floor. And while he wasn't exactly sober, he wasn't nearly drunk enough under normal circumstances. He put aside a little bit of pride to keep her unmolested, and quickly parted her from Ro. Tris chuckled at him, making him even more self-conscious, but it wasn't his first foray and his feet easily found a rhythm, eventually surprising her.

Tris felt a thrill go through her when Four's arm slipped around her to fall low on her stomach, pulling her into him. It was a lesson Zeke had once refused to give her, and she felt triumphant butterflies with every push from his fingers directing her hips. There wasn't anything between her and him, except their clothes and the humid warmth of sweat.

Christina worked her way to Tris's side. She purposefully avoided looking at Four, leaned in close, and alerted Tris to the time. Tris stopped moving; Four's hands, still on her hips, moved up to the top of her arms. Tris twisted with a smile, expectantly looking up at him; her disappointment was unhidden when Four volunteered to escort her home.

"But why? I could stay here."

"Just, let's go. We have twenty minutes." He tugged on her arm; she pulled away and shot an accusatory glance at Christina. "It's a bit colder tonight. I'll need a jacket for the walk back," he commented.

Her shoulders slumped and the guilt flooded in. She refused to walk next to him; instead she trailed behind him, silent, angry about how she'd misread him all week.

Four opened the door to his apartment, a heavy tension between them. He gave her a weak smile. Seeing her anything but happy gnawed at him. "I can get my jacket, take you home. Or, I guess you can come in and talk." He gave her the choice as a nervous wave of nausea swept over him.

"I'll miss the train."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay. You can sleep here or I can take you over to Amar's, Christina's, wherever."

"Christina can't take me back in the morning."

"I can't either, but I can call in a request to the health center." He opened his door and pushed her through before walking to the call box at the end of the hall.

She took her shoes off, setting her bag and jacket on the table. There was a glass out next to the sink, a folder of papers on the book shelf. He let out the breath he'd been holding and shut the door behind him, calling her attention.

"Something to drink?"

"Sure. Water's fine." She continued to scan his apartment and had an idle thought: one day she would walk through that door, and it would be the last day she'd ever be in his apartment. It suddenly felt imminent, and she wanted to remember what it looked like, what it smelled like.

It was as if no one had been inside since she last looked around. The few things in his kitchen were displayed in a neat row with even spacing between each. All the shelves were free of dust. The few books he had were ordered by the author's name. No socks or shoes were out in the open — most likely they were carefully stashed behind the closet door. All his clothes hung in his open closet: shirts, pants, jackets, all grouped together neatly. His bed was made, his floors immaculate. And he hadn't even been expecting her. She let a quick thought float through her head that he must have been expecting someone to have cleaned up so completely.

He sat a glass in front of her, pulling a chair out for her to sit in.

"So, you _can_ dance. I didn't really believe Lauren," she mumbled, preparing for his change of heart.

"Yep." He reached out and took her hand, playing with her fingers with his left hand. "Not often, I'm sure you noticed."

"You're better at it than me." She fixated on his fingers gliding against hers with a light touch and kept her own limp, still not wanting to risk him pulling back again.

"Probably not. It's not usually something I like to do."

"So why'd you dance if you don't like to?" She pulled her hand back, and chose to look him in the eye instead.

"I don't like seeing you with anyone else," he admitted.

"Ro?" She laughed. "He's just a friend. He likes to dance, I like to dance."

"Just a friend? I'm glad you think so."

"What? He is."

"He was flirting with you, Tris. He has been for weeks."

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone says that. But seriously, he's got like five girls he's seeing, and they're all beautiful. He's not interested in me." She got quiet at the end.

"Oh, he's interested."

"You really think he's flirting? And that makes you... reconsider? Or jealous?" His face told her which one, and she softened. Thinking about it pulled a sly smile across her lips. It felt good to still hold some preference, but she swiftly snapped, "I'm not some toy you play with just because you don't want anyone else to. I thought you actually wanted to be with me, but maybe you just don't want me with anyone else."

He bristled then shrugged; the coward in him was starting to put up the wall. But he knew he needed to give her something. Melissa had started touching on the root of most of his insecurities: the ever-present feeling of being unwanted or overlooked. She'd forced him to confront the abandonment he'd experienced, first by his mother, then his father's abuse, and then what he went through with Tris, several times. It had made being around her uncomfortable while he processed that anger, the resentment. But Melissa's persistent suggestion was to talk about it, and he couldn't ignore how he couldn't let go of Tris.

"When you leave me, just don't go with anyone I know, okay?"

Tris's jaw dropped. His admission was in lockstep with her own insecurities. "I'm not leaving. We haven't even gotten started."

"Maybe not now. But when you do, I'd rather he's a stranger and like, not Erudite. I'd make you promise, but that's sort of petty." He slid out of his chair and sought out any type of alcohol behind the cupboard doors. Alcohol always made this easier with Zeke.

"I'm not going to leave you. I mean, if this is you saying you actually want to be with me," she stated, approaching him, watching him tug the cork out of a bottle and take a long draw straight from the lip. "Not in the plans."

"Yeah, you say that now. But that's something I think about, a lot. Seeing you with someone else, every day, for the rest of my life. I wouldn't be able to do it."

"Well, good thing I won't leave you, then. I thought I made it clear: I'm in this to fix it, or I'd be gone already."

"I know I'm not good for you. I'll hurt you. I scare you. I know you'll be gone eventually, and probably for good reasons. Just know that I know that, so when you gotta go, just go. Just leave me a note. Or don't. I'll figure it out."

"You don't scare me," she assured, tugging the bottle out of his hands.

"Tris, your sim. And last week... your arms."

"The sim? I was on medication. I haven't had it again." She hoped her face didn't give her away — he was always bad at seeing her lies. But he sighed and said her name, catching her easily. She bit her lip and shrugged. "I'm here right now, right? I'm not scared, or I wouldn't be here." To prove her point, she pulled him down into a chair and sat on his lap.

He instinctively put an arm around her lower back, then slowly lowered his other onto her thigh. She smiled as wide as she could, stroking his cheek and neck with her hand.

"So why are you so afraid to talk about this stuff with me?" she asked, pushing the tuft of hair he'd left long across his forehead.

"I am talking." She crossed her arms and challenged him with a hard stare; he backpedaled. "I just, I don't trust easy. I've been alone most my life, and sometimes that's just easier."

"You're not alone anymore. And, you haven't been for years. If this is going to work, you have to be honest — when you feel it, not like weeks later." Tris paused when she saw the expression on his face flash something closer to pain than shame. "Is this because I'm almost done with drills? Because I might not make it?"

"You'll make it. Everyone agrees you're ready." He gave her a weak smile.

"Except the shooting. I'm still not... And if I don't, then I'm out and we're over?"

"Tris, you'll do fine. You are almost there." He offered her another half-smile, but his tone was off.

"It wasn't _fine_ today. I only got 75% on target, and only one was in the center ring."

He sighed, tipped his forehead into her shoulder and pressed a few times.

"Is this really why you've been avoiding me?" She rubbed the soft, closely-cropped hairs on the back of his head.

"I've seen you every day," he countered.

"Yeah, but only in the training room and dinner. Only in public with people around. And you won't hold my hand when people can see. Are you ashamed of me? Because I'm not Dauntless anymore?"

"No, no, no. You _are_ Dauntless, you are." He groaned a little and sighed. "It's not you. I don't trust myself."

"And yet, I'm here now. So you must trust yourself somewhat."

He debated how to get it out in a way she'd take seriously, so she'd understand the duplicity in his actions. With his head down, pressed into her shoulder and a heavy sigh, he picked a point and started.

"I know if I keep my distance, you'll be safe. But if I keep my distance, you won't be mine. And I don't know if I'm as selfless as I should be to let you go. But, depending on what happens with your drills, it might not be either of our decisions, anyways. So yeah, I'm being selfish, just in case. Even if it hurts more later."

Tris felt like the breath had been taken right out of her lungs, and not just by his tightening hold. She understood grief and she understood fear; she had heard dozens of stories about both. But she had never heard the morose combination of the two. Tobias feared losing her, feared being alone, and feared being the cause of that loneliness. He grieved the sense of self that a dozen deaths and months of unfortunate events had demolished. It was all apparent in how he gripped her too tightly, the small quiver in his fingers when he talked, the way he avoided looking at her directly, and least by the words he spoke.

"You're obsessed with your fears," she chastised, kissing the top of his head and holding his shoulders tight. "I won't let you hurt me. You should trust that."

She was quiet, rubbing his shoulders and his neck with an affection he'd been craving his whole life, letting him process and think. It made him feel sick to be soaking up her sympathy. He wanted a distraction. He wanted the focus off of him and back onto her, but he wasn't ready to loosen his grip.

"So, if I fail..."

"You won't," he confirmed into her shoulder.

"But if I do? I guess the same rules apply, right? You're in and I'm out and that's that."

"We'll deal with it if we have to." He let her lean back so he could look her in the face. "So, good enough? For the 'talking about things' thing?"

"It'll do. Definitely better." She kissed his temple gently, with a smirk, trying to lighten his mood. She paused and pressed harder into his muscles.

"I like that. It's nice," he admitted. His hands started to circle against her lower back, content to feel her warmth and encouraging her to continue.

"Your shoulders are one big knot."

"Yeah, I've made myself pretty sore this week."

"I can do more," she offered, a nervous edge to her voice. She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. He inhaled deep and exhaled in a momentary fantasy. "I'm not scared," she said as casually as she could, like a reminder. Her lips landed on his jaw.

He dared her with a smirk as he shifted and brushed his lips to hers. He expected her to pull back, that she'd hesitate and give herself away. But she pinched his lips with hers and pulled on his shoulders, deepening their touch. It was all he needed to leave behind the strain of his concerns, but he still let her set the pace. They were taking things slow, after all.

He waited until her hand found its way under his shirt before he slid his up hers slowly, over her bra to cup her breast. When she accidentally fluttered over his nipple, he returned the favor with a strategic squeeze that swiped his thumb in just the right spot and he felt her squirm.

Tris paused to breathe, and playfully kissed his neck and then his ear like he had done to her on the tailgate of the truck. He used his head to push her back off of him and nudged his way in to pepper her collarbone and chest with kisses. She shifted so she was straddling him, her thighs tight around his sides.

A switch flipped. No, not as sudden. Two sides fought a war with his neurons: one side, fueled and equipped by his conscience, battled to give them time to reset their relationship. The other, fueled by his under-expressed hormones, demanded a ceasefire so he could focus on the clasp of her bra. With one side emboldened by the press of her tongue to the gully between his muscle and his Adam's apple, the rational, reserved thoughts were snuffed out. He was in a game of chicken between her touches and his, only neither was afraid anymore.

Tobias picked her up and set her on the edge of the table, squeezing her butt and exploring her shoulder with his teeth and tongue. She had his shirt off, her own sliding across the floor. He shuffled her pants down her thighs and off her ankles before loosening his belt. Her hands snuck under the band of his shorts and squeezed at his hips. The awkwardness of trying to get her panties off and failing woke him up, at least enough to want her on the bed and not the table.

Tobias slipped his hands under her thighs and scooped her up, laughing at her shrill giggle, struggling to make it to the bed before his pants were around his ankles. She bounced on the mattress, both of them laughing when he dropped her. He kicked off his pants and pulled on the drawer in his dresser where he'd found Rafael's forgotten box of condoms.

When he joined Tris back on the bed, they were both sobered by the brief separation, and the crinkle of the pouch in his hand. She gave him a nervous smile. He sat next to her, his hand curling around her thigh, kissing her, finally getting the clasp of her bra. But she was stiffer, less relaxed.

"We can stop here. This isn't exactly slow," he offered with a light laugh, looking her directly in the face. His entire body was screaming at him to shut up.

She shook her head and kissed him before sliding further up the bed and pulling off her panties, choosing to lie naked and forcing him to look at her, to reject her now before they went any further.

A thousand combinations of facial expressions, body positions, intonations and phrases could convey disappointment: lips pulled down and to the side, eyebrows that furrow, little hums of discontent. Sixteen years of ingrained subordination smashed the usual stone mask off his face, leaving a mirage of clues for her to piece together, all while she was silently screaming 'Am I enough?'.

Tobias relaxed into a dumbfounded gaze that begged her for permission, no judgment or hint of dissatisfaction with her. She smiled quickly and blushed, flicking her fingers to beckon him up the bed.

His shorts were on the floor in seconds, the condom rolled on, as he lowered his body onto hers. He kissed her, feeling the apprehension that plagued their first time thumping in her chest and the telltale sweat of her palms. Her hands, just like then, were insistent as she shifted her legs to allow him between her knees.

He quickly moved to position himself, ready to finally get a release. His hands clung to her shoulder blades, his lips stuck to her neck and ear. Her hands squeezed his back, drawing him in. His tip slid down the inside of her thigh and up, his hips hunting for entry, when he felt her whole body go rigid. Her breath accelerated into shallow pants, her heart pounded, and her chest started to convulse for oxygen.

"Shit. Are you okay?" Panicked, he rolled back onto his heels, nervously searching her face for an explanation. But Tris had her eyes squeezed shut and her head held to the side. Her hands came up to her mouth and neck, pushing at nothing as she tried to clear her airway. He rubbed her legs; he'd seen enough panic attacks to call it what it was, but he wasn't prepared to offer any comfort or help.

"Tris, breathe. You're okay, you need to breathe," he repeated while he moved his hands to her stomach, to her sides, coercing her to finally take a gasping breath. He pulled the blankets over her, wrapping her in a cocoon. "It's okay. I'm-I'm not going to hurt you," he stammered. He watched every writhing attempt at catching her breath with concern.

It was several long minutes of agony and second guessing. He didn't know if Janice could get there fast enough to make a difference, and he certainly would need time to put on pants. And would Tris freak out more if he left her for the call box down the hall?

Her breaths started to briefly stabilize before she descended into tears. She avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry, let me try again. I promise I can do this for you. Let me do this," she sniffled, frantic and embarrassed.

"No, not like this. I don't want this." He gently pulled the blanket tighter around her and set his chin on her knee, his hand running up and down her thigh. Tris started to feel exposed, despite the covers, his intense concern flooding her with shame. She pushed at him with her leg and tried to wiggle away, but the blanket she was lying on held her mostly in place.

Tobias responded by collecting her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her shoulder through the layers. Without him looking at her, she was able to get better control over herself. When she'd calmed down into normal breathing and only light sniffles, he stepped away to collect a shirt from his dresser. He handed it to her, reminding him of his own state of undress. He took an embarrassed breath while he turned to pull the condom off, quickly tugging his shorts on before sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

She pulled on the shirt and quickly re-covered herself in the blanket. "I'm sorry. I always ruin it for you. If you don't want to anymore, I get it. Who would?" She sniffled, and started to look for the rest of her clothes to get ready to go.

"What about this makes you think I don't want to?" He motioned to their clothes on the floor with a little chuckle. She could read the disappointment in his face, the fallen smile that didn't touch his eyes, the slump in his shoulders.

"God, I always screw things up." Tris wished her pants weren't all the way across the apartment. She dreaded walking in front of him to shamefully collect her things.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's too fast, right? I mean, I'm the one that said we'd go slow and then here I am, pushing you." He bit at his lip.

"No, it's me. My goddamned fear! Everyone else just does it, why can't I?"

"That's them, this is us. Nothing gets to be easy for us," he teased with a smile, kissing her forehead. "If you're not ready then we're not ready. So not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, or next week or next month. But eventually, we'll get there."

"You deserve better." She rubbed her eyes.

"I don't know what _better_ even means. I just want you." He put an arm around her; she let him pull her close so her head could rest on his chest. "Do you want to borrow something more to sleep in?" Tris nodded. "I have shorts or maybe some pants? I don't know if I have anything that'll fit."

"Yeah, thanks."

"Shorts? You know, I like your legs." He grimaced, hoping it didn't make her too uncomfortable. Trying to keep things light, he kissed her cheek then found a pair with drawstrings and handed them to her. Tobias turned his back to get water from the kitchen, giving her some privacy at the same time. He couldn't keep his eyes off her calves as she approached.

"So... too fast? Or something I did?"

"It's not you, it's me. I'm just not good at this. I'll never be good at this." She limply sat on a kitchen chair, drew her feet up, and hugged her knees.

"Tris, you're scared of me. That's a fact." He threaded his fingers together in front of him, to keep himself from touching her, stressing her further.

"It's not you. It's... _it__._" She pressed her face to her knees; the compression was warm like a hug, yet so far from it.

"What about _it_?"

"You don't understand how he..." She sighed. "You don't want to know." The last thing she wanted to throw in his face was how she'd been with someone else. Even if he didn't blame her or really hold it against her, he probably didn't want to hear about it, any more than she wanted to imagine him with other girls.

He reran every motion in his head, trying to temper his anger for what she went through. "I didn't... Did I make you feel forced to do it?"

"No," she said quickly. "I wanted to. But then it just felt wrong, like it was going to be something horrible."

"Do you think I'll treat you like he did? Like I did in your sim?" She shrugged and he felt sick. "I won't use you. I won't hurt you. And I want you to tell me when you're not okay."

He couldn't help himself. He had to touch her, to somehow show her how gentle he would be. He slowly eased into a chair across from her, putting his hands on her arms.

"God, I'm a mess," she hissed into her legs.

"Yeah, but you're my mess and I'll fix this. We'll fix this," he said with a squeeze.

"Maybe it's just not for me."

"Well, let's not give up so soon." His smile made her laugh a little.

"I mean, I don't get what's so good about it. Like is it really that good for you? Why do people even do it?"

He held his tongue as the rampant memories of physical contentment flooded him, then regrouped. "So, it's never felt good? Not once?" he asked, worried to hear her condemn him for their first time, even though it was already obvious.

She shook her head slowly. "Maybe I'm just broken like that."

"No, it's not like I knew what I was doing," he admitted. "But, I may have a better idea now. I could try some things," he offered, but the reminder of what she imagined to be a parade of more beautiful, better women made her shrink away from him. "Let me try something?" She tensed. "I'll just use my hands, nothing else. I'll keep my shorts on, even. You know like with shooting, we can start with something less involved."

She reluctantly shrugged her shoulders. Bearing through some pain and fear, if it meant he'd stay with her, seemed an okay sacrifice.

"Later," he adjusted when she moved to stand. "Not now. I mean, you still look pretty shaken up."

"If you want to. I'll do it."

"You don't, I can tell. And that's okay. I'm just saying — next time — we don't have to have sex. There are other things we can do together, less intense, still fun." Tris was turning scarlet right along with him. "No pressure, _ever_. We go at your pace."

Tobias started by pulling her onto his lap, hugging her tight. He simply held her, kissed her forehead, her temple, her soft lips. She didn't even recall deciding to respond, but her lips parted and her hands came to rest on his neck. His hands slipped up her arms and one hand escaped to the back of her neck. He hoped it was reassuring and not overbearing.

He walked her to the bed, nervously monitoring her response. She sank down on the mattress, and his mouth found her ear. "Tris, you liking this, liking being with me... I want to make you feel as good as you can make me feel. I want it to be better for you than me. I'm in this to fix it, no short cuts."

He waited for her to be asleep, breaths even and measured, before he slipped out of bed and to the bathroom. He eyed the unopened bottle of pills, but couldn't bring himself to take one. He took a pillow off the bed, found his spare blanket in the closet and stretched out on the floor. She wasn't sure where he'd slept, but when she woke up in the morning it was to a cold mattress next to her and the sound of him in the shower.

* * *

** Let the record show that I'm 6 days shy of 4 weeks... so, that's an improvement, right? Show some love or some hate and pay me with a comment!**


	38. Ch 38: Reset

**Alpha reader, Milner; Beta reader BK2U. Thanks everyone for the continued patience.**

* * *

For Tris, Sunday morning couldn't come fast enough. Four had worked his usual shift on Friday, which meant they only had a little time at dinner with their friends. It wasn't exactly the right place to talk about a date he obviously hadn't mentioned to anyone. She followed his lead in making small talk, staying quiet most of the time. When everyone else was occupied with their own conversations, he ducked close to her to tell her to choose the second car on the eight a.m. train Sunday morning.

She expected the exact same patient awkwardness on Saturday night, only Zeke, Lauren and Christina were all out on a training patrol, leaving her with Karla as a supervisor and the hope that Four would take over. But Four didn't show up at all. Without confirmation, a little thought that something was wrong tortured her all night.

When Christina made the round trip to bring her back Sunday morning, Tris played calm in the train car, shrugging her shoulders when she was asked what her plans were for the day. Telling Christina about the date had crossed her mind, but hearing any pros or cons, or being nagged later on for details, wasn't appealing. She hoped that by keeping quiet, Christina wouldn't notice the lie.

Christina leaned out and jumped at Dauntless while Tris stayed back, waiting for him to jump on. When she didn't immediately see Four climbing into her car, she rushed to the opening to see a couple of legs — at least two people — swing into the car behind her.

She was alone in an empty car, rushing past the city on her way out to Amity. She sank onto the bench when Dauntless was out of view. He didn't make it or he forgot. Worse, he changed his mind and she'd have hours of time to make the loop back from Amity. She looked out the door, evaluating the passing landscape, trying to find a spot to jump and walk back. The sun was barely above the horizon, and she hadn't been alone in months. She closed the door and settled in for a few hours all to herself.

The train was no more than fifteen minutes down the road when she started to regret her decision. The hard wood and vibration had numbed her butt and was starting an ache in her shoulder. She was stretching when a rough thunk on the roof of the train car startled her. Her mind immediately went to the latest headlines about factionless and fringe groups pilfering supply drops and robbing faction members in the alleyways around the city center. She could hear scraping footsteps fighting the wind on the roof. She readied herself for a fight, eyes on the closed door, instinctively looking for a locking latch.

A bright light shone into the car; she looked up, only now noticing there was a hatch. She scurried to the side of the car, hoping her assailant would drop in with their back to her. When he did, she wasted no time wrapping her legs around his center and pulling her arm against his throat like a lever.

He was in all black, his hair shaved to the skin on either side of his head, brown curling locks long down the center. She rode through his thrashing until he was down on his knees, gripping her arm with one hand and swatting at her leg with the other. When he dipped forward onto his hands, the light splashed across his neck and the little lines peeked out just under her arm.

"Four!" she screamed as she let go. "I'm sorry! Oh, my God!"

He doubled over, hand on his throat, and waved his arm out to hold her at a distance. Discomfort and annoyance stuck to his face while blood rushed in and restored his color. Tris rubbed the sweat off her palms and waited, nervous she'd set off his temper.

"Who the fuck taught you to do that?" His voice was hoarse and quiet.

"Um... well, Lauren."

"Well, it's not Dauntless. Must be from George or Amar." He rolled onto his back and felt a light headache set in. He glanced over at Tris and sat up on his elbows, using his legs to push himself to lean against the bare wall. Tris looked petrified as she wrung her hands; he waved her over with a half-smile. "It's my fault. I should have called out your name or something. I'm lucky you don't have a gun. Come on, sit."

She sat facing Four, a healthy space between them, still looking nervously for him to react. He sighed, reached for her hand, and pulled her to sit next to him. The warmth of his arm over her shoulder was comforting.

She turned and pressed her hand to the red swath across his throat, explaining as rapidly as she could, "I'm really sorry. You didn't get on and then I heard something on the roof and there's been attacks and robberies and I didn't even know there were doors in the ceilings–" Four put a finger up to her mouth and smiled.

"You know, it was a really good move," he assured.

"Thanks."

Tris enjoyed the simple warmth of his body, the rock of the car now relaxing. She turned a little to start a conversation, but Four's head was back against the wall, his eyes closed. She hadn't noticed the deep circles that started in the corners of his eyes and spread out underneath. She tucked her head against his chest and let him sleep.

She nudged him awake after a while. She wasn't sure how much time had passed and she didn't want to miss Amity. She would have let him sleep, but the way his arm was around her, he was going to wake up when she moved anyway.

"Sorry, I um..." He glanced out when she opened the door and began stretching. "You should have woken me up when you noticed." He started to pull himself up; the way he moved told a story of stiff and sore muscles.

"What did you do yesterday?" she asked. "Amar said you weren't working and seemed pissed you weren't helping with the Choosing Day thing."

He took a swing out the door and into the rush of wind, trying to jar himself awake. "I have two jobs. He obviously didn't look at the maintenance logs. I had to patch a boiler in the basement. It took most the day. Then I went out."

"Out? Where?"

"I needed some fresh air, all the fumes were making me sick. So I went and assessed a few of the factionless camps and the fringe groups."

"Why?"

"Someone has to, but Harrison doesn't agree that it's Dauntless's priority. He thinks one of Johanna's factionless folks should do it."

"Well, we already have. We get numbers from Therese every week with their orders. So we know almost exactly what's going on."

"Yeah, but she'd rather die than give out real numbers. If we knew about everyone out there, they wouldn't need to steal from supply drops."

Tris took a couple seconds to absorb the truth of his statement. "So what, you were out there all night? Alone? Even they sleep, don't they?"

"I was only out until midnight. But it was a long walk back and then I needed to record everything I had, so I got to bed around two."

Tris blinked slowly, waiting for him to realize the stupidity in his statements.

"What?"

"You went out _alone_ to talk to the people who are robbing folks who are walking _alone_ in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waved her off. "I took my gun."

"Reckless," Tris hissed, but he didn't hear it over the rushing wind.

Tris wondered if the train would stop or if it was the one that ran a continual circuit. She was relieved when it started to slow on approach to the loading area; they both jumped when the ground was level.

Four put his arm around her shoulder on the walk through the gates and out onto the path to Amity. It reminded her of how Zeke had done the same when they went camping. The memory gave her pause before she shook her head, taking in the waist-high grass and the smell of mint crushed on the side of the road.

The usual trucks were coming and going, sacks and bushels of apples and squash on their way to the waiting train. Tris liked watching all the Dauntless mingling in with the Amity and the factionless. It all looked harmonious and coordinated; it looked effortless and hopeful.

Four was stopped a couple times by members he knew, and Tris by some of the leadership of Amity that was there. They were polite while quickly excusing themselves, or risked being pulled in.

"So? What are we doing?" Tris prodded once they were through the bulk of the crowd and just walking.

"Well, I have some lunch being made up for us, and I have a little place I want to take you. It's a bit of a walk. Do you mind?" She smiled and shook her head.

Tris was surprised when Four led them through tractor and truck parts to the barn instead of the Amity cafeteria. Four dropped her hand and assumed his expressionless mask as he walked in. A few of the younger boys and girls — all of whom were covered in grease — scattered out of his way. He crossed his arms and glared at the pair of legs protruding from under a rusted combine.

"Walt! You gonna sleep all day or get some work done?" Four bellowed.

The older man cursed as he cracked his head on the equipment. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" he grouched.

"Oh come on, you fool. I told you I'd be here by nine." Four broke into a smile and reached under to give the man a hand. Tris scrambled forward to help when he teetered and almost fell backwards.

"You think I have a clock under there?" Walt's sour expression drifted to a much more amused smile when he assessed Tris. "Now, you didn't say this was for a lady. I would have thrown in doilies." He held out his hand, palm up.

Four rolled his eyes, slapping some extra ration tickets into Walt's waiting grip. Tris opened her mouth to protest — ration tickets weren't supposed to be traded like credits. But she also knew it was a futile stance, so she let it be. Walt counted out the tickets with a satisfied smile, then nodded at a short, red-headed child who sprinted off deeper into the barn.

"Watch your hands!" he called after him. "So, Four. It's been a while since we've seen you. I have to say, I was thrilled to get your note. Rumor was that you were locked up at Dauntless. Executed even."

"Nah, I'm just out of the government game," Four placated.

"But you're not. I recognize you." Walt wiped at his fingers with a fairly soiled rag before he held out his hand to Tris. "My name's Walt. I do vehicle maintenance around here. One of the factionless that Amity took back in."

"Tris. I work with supply distribution." She shook his hand, still not sure how firm to make her grip and barely containing her cringe when she pulled it away smudged with dirt.

Walt's face lit up. "Well, let me tell you–"

"Not today, Walt. Today, we're just a couple of Dauntless out for a hike, okay?"

"Dauntless?" Walt sniffed, taking in Tris's cream shirt and small stature. "If you say so."

Four turned a little, blocking off Tris so he could playfully give a warning. "Don't insult her. She's vicious. I was running a little late and she about choked me out." He motioned at his neck, although any evidence of her actions had faded to a light rash.

"That was an accident," Tris defended, afraid of how it might color her in Walt's eyes. Walt merely chuckled as the red-headed boy came running back with a round, silver bucket. He had a cloth between his grubby hand and the handle.

"As ordered," Walt stated as he transferred it over to Four.

"Thanks."

Four took the bucket and led Tris over to the barn where they kept the horses. He was negotiating a lift on a cart, trying to find one going in the right direction when he was startled by Tris's shrill scream. He turned to see Robert scoop Tris up and whirl her around. It was another five minute delay while she updated him on his stubborn sister, still staunchly Abnegation. When they were finished, Four had to restart his negotiations with another cart driver.

"Stop it." Tris elbowed Four, her feet dangling off the side of the cart.

"What?"

"You're acting all hurt that I talked to Robert. He's an old friend."

"Yeah, some friend. The way he manhandled you–"

"Is fine," she finished for him. "I'm fine with it. He's in Amity for a reason." She thought about Four's reaction, a slight frown forming on her face. "I don't like how possessive you get sometimes. I'm not your property."

Four immediately dropped his gaze. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm working on it," he mumbled. She nodded and looped her arm with his; his mood improved instantly.

Big weeping willows lined the muddy riverbed as it headed out of Chicago. They'd been marching through the cornfields, and Tris hadn't seen anything other than stalks and drying ears for close to an hour. Even though it was no more than seventy-five degrees out, the corn held in the heat and stopped the breeze from blowing through, making it stifling. When they finally passed out of the rows and into the open, she took a deep breath of the fresh air and eyed the lush grass under the willows that was calling her name.

"Is this it?"

"Yep."

"It's beautiful. How did you find this?" Tris stepped under the shade and admired the sprawling field of wildflowers that filled the other bank.

"Walt," Four shrugged. "I came up here before I convinced Therese to send her folks for the planting, and Walt was showing me and Johanna the plans. That was just a muddy field at the time. I suggested they move operations onto the other side and take advantage of the river instead of using the drier fields that have to be irrigated. But they assured me I'd have to see it in the summer to understand."

"And do you? Now that you see it?"

"Absolutely. It's worth leaving alone. We don't need the extra food anyways," he smiled, setting the bucket down and pulling out a thin sheet to spread on the ground.

"So, what's this you illegally obtained from Walt?" Tris crossed her arms.

"Your illegal is their survival."

"They wouldn't need to trade tickets around if they were reporting the right number of people, like you said earlier."

"Well, if you would just..." He paused, took a deep breath. "No, not today. No arguing today," he smirked, producing several small paper boxes. "Let's have some lunch. I wasn't sure if food from Dauntless would survive the jump, and since I was late getting on and had to walk the roof, I'm glad I second-guessed it. Besides, they get stuff here that they don't send through to the commissaries."

"Like what?" Tris snorted, remembering all the criticism of Abnegation withholding supplies.

He opened the boxes and poked around a little. "Like fresh goat's cheese and vines of grapes." He slid the boxes across to her.

"I've never had grapes before."

"I figured. And I bet you've never had..." He sniffed the contents of the next box. "Apple butter on rolls. Or honey cured ham." He announced each food after a brief inspection of the boxes.

Tris sat next to him and pulled a round, red grape off the little vine; she didn't find any specific scent when she brought it up to her nose. She hesitated, looking to Four for a second before nipping it with her teeth. "That's amazing." She pushed three more into her mouth immediately.

Four pulled out a roll and tore it in half, smearing the cheese and adding a grape before savoring the salty-sweet mixture in his mouth. Tris mimicked him and wondered what else she'd missed growing up Abnegation.

"How did you find out about this stuff?"

"Well, Dauntless. They all love food. It's amazing the things they find fraternizing out at the fence. And Sunday dinners with the Pedrads... Well, maybe you shouldn't attend. I'm not exactly sure how they get their hands on some of the things they get. I wouldn't want my girlfriend turning them in."

He was nonchalantly fixing another piece of roll with ham and apple butter, as if he hadn't said what he did, but Tris could barely breathe. She mouthed the word '_girlfriend'_ to herself; Four caught her looking nearly catatonic.

"You okay?"

She cleared her throat. "Umm, girlfriend?"

Four's stomach seized with her hesitation. "Well, yeah. I mean... that's what you wanted, right?"

"But I'm not in yet. I'm not Dauntless." She set a grape down, her jaw tightening. "It's counting chickens."

"You're gonna be fine. I know you'll be fine." He rubbed her leg softly, gave it a squeeze, then made her a mini ham sandwich. "I can call you something else if you want, but it won't be what I'm thinking."

"No... it's okay, girlfriend is good," she whispered, taking the sandwich. But the idea still made her uneasy. Even if they were taking things slow and trying to make it work, the threat of her failing still loomed over them.

Four sensed her discomfort in the way she averted her eyes, and made a mental note to avoid saying it again.

"Throw me a grape," he prompted, pointing at the box that had been migrating closer and closer to her with each reach. He smiled, trying to lighten the mood as she pushed the box towards him. "No, throw it up in the air."

"What?"

"Come on, see if you can hit my mouth."

Tris pulled a grape from the sticky vine, rolling it in her fingers to test the firmness. Tossing a grape shouldn't have made her nervous, but not making his mouth seemed a sin with how good they were. She aimed and flicked her wrist.

"Shit!" he ducked, knocking it down with his hand. "Not like that." He picked it up and pointed at her, making it clear she was expected to catch it now, then lobbed it up a little.

She had to bob to the side, and closed her mouth too soon, causing it to ricochet off into the grass. A sweet treat lost forever. She looked after it, refusing to let something so delicious escape.

"S'ok, try again." His broad smile was playful, and with her less aggressive toss, he was successful. She, on the other hand, had to call it quits when her guilt over losing too many to the weeds surpassed her competitive side.

With all the grapes gone and just a small sampling of cheese and apple butter left, Four shoved the containers back inside the bucket and stretched out on his side. Tris mirrored him, then rolled onto her back to stare up through the vines of the willow.

"What time is it?"

"Let me worry about that. I'll make sure we make a train." He shimmied close enough to smooth her shirt down over her stomach, and rested his hand there to feel the subtle rise and fall with each of her breaths. "Did you ever ask about your birthday?"

"What?"

"Your birthday. I know you don't know from growing up, but it's on your official paperwork. It's probably just an estimate, but all births had to be reported to the records clerk, so it's probably accurate within a few days."

"No. I didn't know they kept track. I figured they just put the year or something like that."

"Neither did I until Janice told me mine."

"And?"

"Oh, um... July thirty-first."

"So, you're almost twenty?" Tris wrinkled her nose. "That's pretty old."

He poked at her side a little, and shushed her. "Hey now, nineteen. I'm almost nineteen. So, do you want to know yours?"

"Wait, the Candor report said nineteen. The one for your trial."

"Well, yeah. Everything is done by your birth year still, but I'm barely before the cutoff. So, you want your birthday?"

"Yeah, I'll ask Janice next time I see her."

"Want to know now?" Four smirked.

"You looked up my records?" Tris immediately wondered what exactly he'd found.

"It's on your initiation records. I knew it last year," he explained, turning a little pink.

"So?"

"It's today." She raised an eyebrow. "Your birthday is recorded as July sixteenth. That makes you seventeen."

"Huh, seventeen?" She took a long moment to think it over. "But I thought... I mean, I was sixteen last year, seventeen this year... I was kinda looking forward to being eighteen."

Four gave a snort, before laying his head back down and pressing closer to her.

"At eighteen, people take you seriously!" she protested. He rubbed the bridge of his nose into her skin, then kissed her arm, mumbling a sleepy, "Happy birthday, Tris."

"Thank you for this. I don't even have the words..." She smoothed the hairs on his arm as she talked; it was impossible to think of being born and not think of her parents.

He kissed her cheek and snaked his arm under her neck, pulling her onto her side. It was a welcome distraction to indulge in how he tasted. What started as a chaste kiss quickly accelerated into something more.

He dragged his lips down her neck, pinching her skin and feeling her body tense, her pulse accelerating with his. He slipped his hand down to start at her knee and slide up her leg. Her hands stayed frozen against his chest, her breathing becoming concerning.

He paused with his palm flat around the curve of her hip, evaluating her before pecking her on the lips and smiling. "I'm getting carried away again."

"It's okay. I'm fine," she lied, before expressing a different concern. "But, I mean, here? In the open?"

"No one is out here. They're all bringing in the apples and squash and getting ready for the wheat. We might as well be locked in a windowless room," he assured, watching his fingers trace down her arm to her elbow. "That's what I wish was different at Dauntless."

"What?"

"More windows. When I take these night shifts, it's days before I get outside."

"Why do you take them when they make you so tired?"

"The more tired I am, the fewer nightmares I get. Fewer night terrors. Or at least I don't remember them at all."

"That's not healthy." He didn't respond. She watched his eyes follow his hand down her arm and changed the subject. "Do you like what you do now better than working with Johanna? Is that why you stopped?"

Four stroked back up her arm, feeling the firmness of her muscles. "When you come back, what type of job do you want?"

"I have a job."

"You'll need a Dauntless job, at least part-time."

"What I do now is a full-time position, if not more."

"So I guess it's good to start thinking about it now, right? Find something suitable. I can start laying some groundwork. I know most of the faction."

"I don't need you to get me a job. I have one," she repeated.

"They're going to expect you to contribute to the faction. You need to be thinking about where you fit."

"Isn't that the problem?" she snorted. "I don't fit. We don't fit."

"Things are different now. You don't have to hide it anymore, but you still have to contribute."

"I'll think about it." Tris didn't want to escalate the argument — she had no intentions of leaving her position.

It was another few minutes of silence, when she figured he was asleep, before he broke the silence between them. "I like being around you. I don't feel like I ever have to be someone else."

Tris looked over to see him staring at her. "Who else do you think you have to be? Super soldier? Legend?" He was easy to tease, and quick to smile. "Those aren't bad things, you know. It's better than being a 104 basket-case traitor."

"Were you really going to jump?" When she couldn't hold his gaze, he pulled her in tight. "I'm so sorry that things ended up the way they did. I don't even know how to tell you how I feel about it. I'm just really glad you're still here."

"Still here and still needing to breathe," she joked, patting his arm and pushing him back so she could kiss him briefly. "I'm in a much better place today."

She could feel a smile stretch against her neck just before he kissed her like he was thirsty. The urgency and slight desperation caught her off guard and swept her away until his intensity wavered in favor of teasing. Four was well on his way to discovering her most ticklish body part when she kicked the bucket over in her squirming.

They caught their breath, staring up at the branches. Four was fighting his less pure impulses, especially when a glance in her direction revealed her bare stomach.

Tris, forever the bolder of the two, whipped up and straddled his hips, pulling at his shirt. She liked pinching the fabric between her fingertips — it gave her someplace to look other than his face. "I'm curious. You said there were things you've done that I might like? Things that aren't sex."

Four cocked an eyebrow and ran his hands up her thighs. "I said I know about some things. But, I... I haven't done them. I've only ever wanted to do them with you."

"What sort of things?"

Four's response was a blushing grin, as he moved his hand to her belt. She stopped him. "No, tell me first. I think if I know it won't be as scary."

"Um, well, you know how girls m-masturbate?" he stuttered. "Like, I could do that for you."

"What? I don't. I've never." Tris looked flustered. She had a few times, not that she'd ever admit it. And it certainly wasn't something she thought worth the effort.

"Never?" Four blinked rapidly. Dauntless women had led him to believe that their libidos were just as high as the men's. He certainly wasn't one to shrug off exercising his urges in the shower, often thinking about Tris doing the same. "Well, I can still try stuff. Do you want to?"

Tris shrugged, but slid off of him and pulled one knee up to her chest.

"It's okay. Another time. It's like nap-thirty anyways, isn't it?" He smiled and shifted onto his stomach.

When she moved, he expected her to line herself up against him. But she dug her fingers into his trapezius, just below his shoulder blade. He stiffened, reeling back with a hurt pant that shouldn't have sent an exhilarating pulse through Tris, but it did.

"Jeez, Killer. Not so hard. What'd I do to get on your bad side today?"

Tris pushed him down gently and straddled his back, driving her knuckles into him, slowly working her way from the base of his spine to the top of his shoulders. Her fingers meandered occasionally, exacting a little revenge for the tickling. Every time he squirmed, it was like a personal triumph in conquering the mighty Four. Touching his body, all over his back, was an exploration that seemed safer with his face buried in the sheet. With all the tension carefully pushed out of his body, Four limply pawed at Tris when she finally laid down next to him.

"Your watch, can you set an alarm? You can sleep for a bit before we head back. You look really tired."

He hesitated. "Yeah. Is that how you want to spend your day? Watching me sleep?"

"I'm tired too," she assured. "Besides, how often do we get to be outside?"

"Just, don't get too close, okay? No repeats of..." He didn't have to finish, but he did wait for her to nod before he closed his eyes.

She relaxed into the sheet, a foot or more between them, and thought he was going to drift off to sleep when he murmured something.

"What?"

"Your favorite color? I've never asked."

"I don't really have a favorite."

His question reminded her of the last day of initiation: waiting in his room with him, kissing, talking and eventually sleeping before the banquet, before the war. He didn't want to sleep then either, even though she could tell he was tired. It was obvious from the way he didn't even open his eyes that a few stalled responses and he wouldn't be able to hold on.

"But if you had to pick?"

"I guess blue."

"What kind of blue?" he slightly slurred.

Tris knew exactly the shade of deep blue that she'd come to admire: it was a little darker than the cobalt that Erudite typically used. And even in the smallest of quantities, it put her instantly at ease with a sense of familiarity. He didn't need to know the specifics, or how often she thought about his eyes, because even if it was all because of him, that part was just for her.

"A dark blue."

He slept for at least an hour while she watched him, wondering about the rod through his ear and the freshly-shaven hair that screamed Dauntless, when he used to cut it so very Abnegation. Curiosity filled her at how far from Abnegation he'd come, and if he'd moved away from all of their values, or just the ones that were inconvenient. She turned the same question on herself and contemplated how far both of them had stepped away from everything they'd ever known.

She circled her thoughts back to something less significant: his oddly attractive face. The curve of his nose and how his cheek smushed against his hand. His stern and serious look had put her on edge in a way that nothing ever had, but now she only saw the softness in him, the humanity he tried so hard to mask. She liked how the tips of his hair lightened to a dark copper, and carefully picked out a stray seed when she spotted it. Even if she was supposed to be an adult, she gave into that girlish side for a while that fantasized about marriage and love and forever.

The breeze had picked up and the air was cooler when his alarm sounded on his watch. Tris jerked awake from a dream she didn't remember entering and glanced at Four, nudging him when he didn't move.

"Dad!" he shouted as he thrashed on the sheet, taking in the scenery and Tris's gaping mouth. Four's hand was shaking too badly to hit the alarm the first time. He stood quickly and prodded her up, folding the sheet without explanation and avoiding eye contact. With everything collected back into the bucket, he held his hand out and gave her a grin that didn't really reach his eyes.

The walk back through the stalks was even hotter than the walk in, and longer without the cart back to Amity. His unguarded, troubled expression kept her from giving voice to her questions.

Four dropped the bucket outside Walt's closed up shop as they made their way to the waiting train. He boosted her up before pulling himself on, sitting with his legs dangling out the door. The car was almost full of bushels and sacks.

"Do you think you could live here?" he asked, taking a few items when handed to him and passing them back to her.

"Didn't go well last time."

"Yeah, but this time could be different. No one's out to kill us."

"I'm almost in and now you want to jump ship?" She kept a teasing tone and joined him on the edge of the opening, her hands gripping the floor. "This was really nice, thank you."

"I'm sorry I slept through most of our date," he chuckled, clearly embarrassed.

"You need to stop working so many nights, or so many hours."

"Well, I think I picked up a new hobby, so I shouldn't need so much work to keep me busy." He nudged her with his shoulder.

"What are you doing when we get back?"

"I was going to sleep, but now... I guess I gotta choose between Amar's and the Pedrads'."

"I was going to go to Amar's." Her hopeful smile brightened everything around her.

"Well, then I should probably go to the Pedrads'." Four let out a heavy sigh, and Tris's eyes dropped; she even started to pull away a little. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Kidding, Tris. To Amar's it is. Don't be so sensitive. I know it took me a while to get here, but I'm all in, okay? No doubts." He laced his fingers through hers and enjoyed the ride back into the city with Tris's head on his shoulder.


	39. CH39: Something Real

**Dear Alpha: Milner, Darling Beta: BK2U. A Tumblr post explains how I write and the role that each of these folks plays in my writing see my profile for a link. They're wonderful. Thanks for your patience! Summer is gonna be busy. Fall is gonna be busy. We'll all be old and gray, but I'll finish this thing as soon as I possibly can.**

* * *

There was no denying the change in either of their demeanors during dinner. George had been nervous the last two times Tris and Four had collided in his living room, and both times their body language had given everyone cause to be on edge. When George heard the door open, he expected one set of hands in the kitchen; Tris helping this time around was an interesting change to watch.

Four was quick to take his position chopping vegetables for salad; Tris washed a few of the prep bowls before loitering across from Four and stealing slivers of carrots before adding the piles to the bowl. If it wasn't immediately obvious when they walked in together, the way Four made a separate pile for her on the edge of the cutting board was confirmation enough, even if they worked in almost perfect silence.

It would take someone fairly observant to catch on during the rest of the night because of how little they interacted directly. They guarded their glances and Four never addressed her, so she never looked at him directly. But there were other, simpler things that happened, like sliding the salt before it was requested or refilling a mostly full water glass. Those things would have looked perfectly ordinary at an Abnegation table, but Dauntless kids were far less considerate. Lauren was unabashedly staring almost the whole time, unsure if the silence and space between the two was a newfound peace or a pressure cooker ready to blow.

Four cleared the plates when the drinks came out, and Derrick excused himself to go to his sister's just as Christina came in the door. With everyone's focus on Christina's explanation for her tardiness, Four reached under the table and squeezed Tris's hand just long enough to get her to look over and smile.

"That's it. What the fuck is going on?" Lauren asked louder than she intended, and everyone turned to gape at her.

"What?" Christina picked at the leftovers on the counter, filling her plate with the scraps.

"Those two. What's the deal?" Lauren looked offended, gesturing towards them.

Four raised his eyebrows and pushed his glass away from him, leaning back to assess Tris's reaction. She looked shell shocked, and held her gaze steady at the table's edge. Tris wasn't about to proclaim any rights to Four. She didn't feel it was her place to speak for him when everyone already knew her opinion. The longer the silence crept on, the worse she felt and the more she feared his impending dismissal.

"We're um... back on. That's all. Nothing you didn't already see coming, I'm sure," Four said quietly, squeezing her hand in his again. Tris let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank God! I was waiting for a fucking bomb to go off," Lauren laughed, exhaling dramatically.

With the announcement forced out, Tris was slightly freer in how she interacted with him. The shame that had been building in his silence was washed away by his suddenly open touches. The consumption of alcohol made Four even bolder: he forced her down onto his lap when seating was scarce, locking her in with his arms around her waist. She was pretty sure his legs were asleep when Christina beckoned her to the door.

"So, I'm ready to go," Christina informed her. Tris glanced back at Four who was rubbing life back into his thighs and losing interest in hearing Lauren tell a story. "Tris, all good things in moderation. And I want details, STAT."

"Okay, you're right." Four had been watching her, and quickly jumped up at her glance. "I'm going back to Christina's. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"You sure you don't want to–"

"Slower," she cut him off.

"Right, slower." He ran his hand down her arm, a chaste assurance that made her smile and blush.

* * *

Christina threw the door closed and rushed Tris impatiently to her couch. "For the love of all things sacred in the universe, where the hell were you all day? When you didn't get off the train, I freaked the fuck out. And then you just show up all in one piece with the boy wonder?"

"Right, I um... I went to Amity with Four. On a date."

"And you didn't feel like informing me?"

Tris shrugged. "I didn't want to put any more pressure on it than there already was. You would have grilled me all morning and made me put on stupid clothes and made me sick to my stomach."

"Maybe," Christina conceded, then turned her attention back on her friend. "Well? So?"

"What? You were at dinner. Things went well. Just relax."

"A whole day of worrying, and you give me 'things went well'? You gotta do better than that."

"Fine. We went to Amity. We went for a walk. We ate lunch. Then we had a nap before we walked back. Then we came home on the train and went to Amar's. And now I'm here. It's no big deal," she said with as little inflection as possible, droning monotonously in hopes of reducing Christina's questions.

"That's pretty clinical. Must not have been exciting. Except that 'nap' part. Is that like Abnegation secret code?"

Tris wrinkled her nose. "I don't think it was your kind of a date."

"Mmm. So did you talk or was it all heavy petting?"

Tris squirmed. "There was no... _petting_. But he did get on the wrong car and I roughed him up a bit when he dropped into mine." Christina's eyebrow pressed her on, and she was excited to tell that part of her morning. "He came through the top hatch, but his hair was different and I thought he was a fringe or something, so I locked him up how Lauren taught us and about had him down for the count when I saw his tattoo."

"And then he...?" Christina prompted with concern.

"Sat with me and slept all the way to Amity."

Christina narrowed her eyes. "There seems to be a whole lot of 'sleeping' going on."

"You know how much he works. He was up most of the night and still made our date, so I'm not going to gripe about watching him sleep. He looks younger when he sleeps." Tris blushed and looked at her hands before she remembered, "So it was for my birthday."

"What? When was your birthday? You didn't tell me."

"I didn't know. Not until today. It's on my paperwork, apparently. So that's why he wanted to go out today. Because it's my birthday."

"That's like, fucking sweet?" Christina questioned in confusion.

"He's not as one dimensional as you keep insisting he is. He's a real person and he can be really kind sometimes."

"Yeah, apparently just to one person."

"Hey, he's nice to a lot of people. He's even been nice to you. Even when he was mad at me, he still showed up to move a refrigerator for you. And just last week, he covered for you when you were late to patrol. He lied to your supervisor! And he wrote you all those months he was in Milwaukee. Last week he put in new shelves for Shauna. And then there's all the rehab stuff he's done with her. He worked with the factionless when Johanna asked him to. And he saved Caleb for me. And he took Rafael in. And he was willing to wipe one of his parents to get peace. And… and…. he likes dogs!" Tris rattled off, until Christina was leaning back wide-eyed.

"Okay, I get it. I guess I just remember his temper a little bit more."

"He didn't even get mad when I almost choked him out today!"

"Fine, fine. Criticism rescinded. Oh, you're going to have to report in to Janice tomorrow."

"Why? What did you say?"

"You're the one that stayed on the train. I had to report it. I don't read minds."

"Well, I was with Four. He can back me up. Hopefully she won't extend it, but seriously, I don't need to be on the protocol. Not anymore."

"Does your therapist agree?" Christina was amused by Tris's defensive attitude. Something had changed in her when she didn't jump off the train.

"Yeah," Tris confirmed.

"If she did, wouldn't she ask for the review?" Christina challenged.

"So, what's with you and Derrick? He left as soon as you came in," she deflected.

"Mm-hmm. That's what I thought."

"Soon, okay. She just wants to make sure I'm okay after I complete drills, then it's coming off. So, Derrick? You?"

"We had an argument. He's all butthurt about it."

"What about?"

"About long term stuff." Christina gave an exaggerated shudder.

Tris scrunched her eyebrows. "I don't get it. You're already exclusive."

"He wanted me to move in with him."

"Oh, wow. But you just got this place."

"Yeah, I know."

"And?"

"And I said no. I'm only seventeen. So I suggested we cool it and see other people."

"Ouch."

Christina shrugged. "It's his fault. I mean, who does that? We've only been seeing each other for, like, a few months. I'm only_ seventeen_. Never date an older dude, Tris. He's halfway to demanding babies."

"You know, the Abnegation get married at eighteen. Twenty, at the latest. Almost everyone has both their kids by twenty-two."

"Dauntless isn't like that. And Candor isn't either! I thought things would be okay with Derrick. He's only gonna be twenty-two. Who the fuck moves in together at twenty-two?"

"I mean, Zeke and Shauna are nineteen." The look Christina gave Tris made it obvious that she wasn't looking for an example. "Well, do you love him?"

Christina wrinkled her nose. "That's a _strong_ word. I'm only seventeen..."

"You keep saying that. An age difference shouldn't be the only reason to put the brakes on things." Tris hesitated before trying to tread lightly, "Did you love Will?"

"I... It's not the same."

"It sounds like you're scared of getting hurt."

"I know what I feel," Christina defended, her tone casting more doubt than her words mitigated.

Tris raised an eyebrow. "Then I guess you told him the right thing."

"Yeah, I guess," Christina said quietly, then moaned in remorse, "Why'd he have to do this? He's so good in bed. I've never been with someone so... athletic! And the things we do, ugh. Now that is gonna be hard to give up."

"Things like what?"

"Seriously?" Tris had never encouraged Christina before.

"Yeah, like what do you do? It's not just sex, right?"

"Um, well, it's more like how we have sex. He's really strong, so, he sort of puts my legs over his arms and holds me while he's standing up. And something similar against the wall in the shower. And, well, he's game for anywhere, anytime, any position."

"The shower?" Christina wiggled her eyebrows, and Tris dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap. "So... what about _not_ sex? You ever not have sex?"

"Like, dinner?"

"No, like things you can do, but it's...not...sex." Tris struggled to find the right words.

"Talking? Massage? Cooking dinner together? Climbing in the training room? Wrestling? Shopping for clothes?" Christina listed, knowing full well what Tris was asking. Tris took a really long breath in and pressed her lips together.

"Tris, my mom gave me the best advice ever: if you can't talk about it, you probably aren't ready to be doing it. There are real consequences if you can't communicate about things, especially bedroom things. Like, Four could hurt you by accident, or you could end up not liking something just because you didn't tell him it wasn't working. And then you'll be missing out on more things, not to mention being stuck doing something you don't like."

"I just... I don't know what to say. And we never talked about this stuff growing up. Never. So it's not like he knows what to say, either."

"You obviously know about sex. They taught us about it in school."

Tris snorted. "We must have gone to _very_ different schools. You want to know what I actually learned in school? The guy puts his thing inside his partner and that babies can happen if it's with a woman. That's it, okay? Nothing but technical abstractions."

"Well, then, your faction must say something about it."

"Yeah, they do. That you get married after initiation and only do it to have two babies. Two. I thought for years that meant you could only do it twice or they'd make you factionless. And then that's all they say. The sum total of my sexual education."

"Okay, well, first, you should say 'his penis,' or at least go for rod, cock, or fuck-stick, but never _thing,_ okay? Didn't you pay attention in the gym locker room? Or talk to your friends?"

"No. We changed as quickly and as privately as possible. We weren't supposed to talk to anyone much, and even then it was just polite small talk. You know, the weather, assignments, dinner plans. We didn't really have friends like I have friends now."

"Well, friend number one, right here. But if I'm going to help educate you on stuff, you gotta use the words." Tris was beyond uncomfortable, but nodded. "Okay, so what have you and Four done together? Give me the baseline."

"Well, we've kissed, obviously. And you know, that we... we had sex once. And we've slept next to each other a few times now. I know that he's somewhat more experienced than me. He wouldn't say what he did at the fence, just that he didn't sleep with anyone. But he did said he was with a girl in Milwaukee and it was a strictly physical relationship."

Tris stopped to reflect on the confusing feelings that concept gave her, but she refocused quickly, babbling at an increasing speed as she got out all of her thoughts. "But he knows about things. He says he wants to do them with me, even. But, I just freaked out on him a few nights ago and now he stops himself just at kissing. Like he doesn't want to anymore, and if he doesn't get it, he's probably gonna leave me. Like you always say: they want what they want."

Christina raised an eyebrow, taking in the contradicting statements and insecurities while Tris drew in a deep breath. "Tris, when I'm venting, I'm not necessarily saying things that apply to every single guy in the world. So what do you mean by 'freaked out'?"

"I had a panic attack. Like a full-on, couldn't breathe attack," she admitted quietly.

"Whoa."

"Yeah. Now he doesn't want to have sex with me anymore. But then he says he does want to do other things instead. He thinks we should start smaller and maybe we can eventually work our way back to sex. Then again, maybe I can't."

"If you had a panic attack, I don't think sex is really healthy for you right now. Doing other things might be good."

"But I already know what sex is like. Everything else is a mystery."

"Do you, though? What do you think it's like?"

"I mean, I know he'll like it." Tris shrugged. "And it's not like it's gonna kill me to do it. I just gotta get past it the first time, that's all. Just do it as many times as I have to to get over it."

"Wow. No, no, no. That's inviting a disaster. I think he has the better idea here. The _much_ better idea. I mean, you haven't had good sex yet. You haven't even had mediocre sex, so I know you aren't realizing how amazing it can be. But it certainly shouldn't be some obligation you suffer through. Four is right, there are a lot of things you can do that you don't already have an opinion on. It sounds like a great idea to try these things together, gradually, and build the trust back up between you two. Sex doesn't even have to be part of the equation. What does he want to do? Blow job? Boys always start with the bee-jer." Tris squirmed and shook her head.

* * *

"So? You want to tell me what's up?" Amar started his interrogations with an empty living room and a full bottle.

"I'm not drinking that. I'll keep my guts firmly inside today, thanks." Four slid it away from him.

"The alcohol is more for your comfort than extraction, because talking about this isn't really optional." Amar slid it back. "I looked for you yesterday, then again today. Harrison said you took the day off, took the night off, too. And you were just asking Tris back to your apartment."

"And where is any of that your business?" Four pulled himself up off the couch to make an exit.

"She's not in yet."

"Oh, so you're gonna turn us in?" Four challenged.

"I don't care about Harrison's rules. I care about her. I care about the last five months. She is so close. And now you're–"

"I'm what? I'm suddenly in the way? What's with you? A week ago you were all–"

"You're taking this the wrong way!" Amar cut him off; Four's nostrils flared.

"Well, how am I supposed to take it? Last week, you were telling me to follow my heart, or whatever. Not to discount her choice in things. Now, you want me to follow the fucking rules?"

"Will you shut up for a second?" Amar demanded.

"No. I'm tired of people telling me what the hell I should do." Four started for the door, only to be stopped by George's hand on his shoulder.

"Tobias, sit down! He's not explaining things right." Hearing his name with a deep and staccato tone bristled him into silence.

George chose to sit on the coffee table, and patiently waited for Four to settle back onto the couch before he made eye contact and took a breath. "Tris went through some trauma," George started.

"You told him?" Four immediately shot a glare at Amar.

"He tells me everything. And I tell him everything. You'll figure that out yourself someday," George snapped. "Anyway, Tris's assault, whether you count the real one or the sims, spiraled her into addiction, depression, anxiety. All sorts of shit that should have never happened to her. But being in Dauntless has been this unchanging goal that's really propelled her forward. And there's been hiccups, yes, but she is so close.

"We're not saying don't date her, not at all. You two should figure things out together just like any normal couple. But maybe you shouldn't go jumping straight into the deep end. Just slow up, don't freak her out. She's got a real, legitimate fear that's going to take some time to overcome and a lot of understanding and patience. And pressing her isn't going to help her get through her landscape. I know you well enough now to know you have an issue with waiting for things."

Four dropped his head with a sudden wash of guilt. "Yeah, well, we kind of... already jumped. Well, at least we _tried_ to jump. It uh… yeah… didn't end good."

"Shit," Amar muttered with a huff. "I knew it was weird when she didn't want to do a practice session yesterday."

"How do I do this then? What should I do?"

Amar's normally serious exterior broke. "You think I know anything about pussy?"

George made a sharp noise that had Amar scurrying back into the kitchen and messing with the dishes.

"I don't know," he said softly, focusing his attention back on Four. "Who really knows what the exact right answer is? But what I do know is that fears aren't trivial. How many of yours are still hanging around three years later? I know I have a half dozen that have never changed."

He was quiet for a minute while Four's empathy for Tris threatened to choke him. George took a quick inhale, "Maybe your best bet for now is to focus on choices — her choices — and leave everything up to her. You're probably okay with anything she can think of, right? But the reverse probably isn't true. And talking. You have to talk about everything, not just about sex. She's got other fears, too. Control is a big thing with her. Her being Divergent still makes her think she can't be here. She's got insecurities on top of being alone and losing control. It's really a complicated set."

"Yeah, actually talk. Not just fucking her brains out." Amar's crass comment had the right effect, breaking Four into a chuckle.

"Thanks, buddy," George deadpanned. "How well do you really know each other?"

"I mean..." Four considered how many facts he knew, and the different feelings he got thinking about her while trying to come up with a measure.

"As well as you know Shauna?" George offered the comparison.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"How about Lauren? Do you really know her as well as you know Lauren?" Amar challenged.

"No," Four whispered. Fake relationship or not, they had spent months of time together, cloistered away to preserve the outward lie. Throughout it all, they'd deepened their friendship beyond anything he ever thought possible. He was certain he knew Lauren better than Zeke, and he knew them both better than Tris. He looked away, wondering what this revelation said about him.

"Maybe you should start there. Get to know your real girlfriend as much as your fake one." Amar took a seat next to him on the couch, drawing his attention back. "Now, we gonna get shit-faced and play poker, or you going home?"

Four contemplated, then took the bottle while George grabbed a deck of cards. "How'd you figure out it was fake?"

"Little birds do all sorts of squawking around here," Amar commented absently while shuffling the deck.

* * *

Christina was giddy and excited. She'd spent the entire time they were in the training room detailing the predicted fallout of slipping snakes into Zeke's patrol locker. Tris tried to remind her how bad his fear was, but even she had to admit that when he put moths in Christina's coat pockets, he was asking for retaliation. Christina had to suck her lips between her teeth to try and regain her composure when they exited to find Four waiting, slightly winded.

"Tris, I've got to... I have the early patrol," Christina said.

"Right." Tris's eyes immediately flicked over to Four's.

"Do you mind if I steal her until the train comes?" He glanced at his watch then back over to Christina; it took everything she had to stifle her snickering.

"I can just stay the night and go in the morning," Tris piped up immediately.

"No, not tonight. I got stuff," he dismissed, sucking in one more large breath.

"Then I can help you with it."

"It's sort of a one-man job, nothing for you to help with." He glossed over the details while he waited for confirmation from Christina.

"If you don't want me to stay, that's fine. Just say it." Tris banged her fist against the wall on her way towards the exit.

Four shook his head in shock then took off after her. "Tris, I'm busy but I thought we could talk til the train comes."

"Whatever." She only glanced back to see if Christina was coming.

"For fuck's sake," he roared. He snatched her wrist to stop her from walking away, then caught himself and released her.

Tris whirled away from him, looking back with stern reproach.

"I have to fix the lines to the boiler tonight so that they can get the damned showers back up in the patrol locker room. I've got a job, you know?"

Tris corrected her posture. "Sorry."

"I came to find you so we could at least spend _some_ time together. But if all you want is in my pants…" He let the pause draw out, watching shame fall over her face. "Then you're gonna have to wait until tomorrow," he added with a smile, trying to turn a joke.

Tris was thoroughly ashamed, the joke missing its mark. She even shrugged away from him when he reached out to touch her shoulder. "I just had a bad day. I'm sorry I snapped."

"It's okay, it happens. Tell me about it?" Christina nodded at him when he pulled Tris along the hallway. She followed at a distance: close enough to watch but not close enough to hear. She smiled to herself as she watched them walk slow laps around the train yard, their hands only coming apart when Tris got animated and angry in her explanations.

Tris's confessions in the train yard had eased her burden, but doubled his. Four was as dutiful as he could be in letting her vent and explain, but the entire time he was biting his tongue. The solution was so obvious to him: none of her problems would follow her to Dauntless. And when she took up a position within the faction, she could leave all the politics of the central government behind.

But at the same time he could predict some problems: she was stubborn and had issues with authority. Dauntless was an army, and while they used it with a light touch, it had a hierarchy they were required to respect. While he thought he could counsel her on managing her superiors without causing as much trouble, he stayed silent. There were times for listening and times for talking. If his childhood gave him anything, it was the discipline to let someone else speak.

"What do you think?" she prompted.

He hesitated, slowly cracking the knuckles on his right hand: one, two, three. He fought every instinct to tell her what to do, and shrugged instead.

"Nothing?" she deadpanned.

"Well, I know how _I_ would handle it, but I'm just getting a small chunk of the pie and you probably know best what you should be doing. I'm not going to second guess your instincts about others in the government."

She sensed he had more to say. "But?"

"But... If you really feel there's some corruption going on, I think Johanna would listen to you and investigate. Just remember, once you throw those stones, you can't call them back."

"So how would you handle it?"

"I'd ask the jerk in the control room to keep an eye on the drop sites as soon as the location is released, and see if anyone loiters there the day before."

"Hmm. Do I need a request form?"

"Usually."

She sighed. "Paper trail. It's probably too big of a stone to throw."

"Or, you could just let him kiss you, maybe grab a boob or something." She laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. "There are more ways than one to get what you need. You can ask for help, you know, rather than trying to catch them on your own. Just let me know, okay?"

"Yeah, when I get boobs worth grabbing." She rolled her eyes.

"Well, if you want an in-depth appraisal, I'm gonna need some dinner, booze, clothes on the floor... But from a cursory assessment, you have more than enough to make the trade." He wiggled his eyebrows, getting the desired shade of pink in her cheeks.

"When you gonna stop working all day, all night?" She slid her hands around to his back and leaned into him. He hugged her tight around her shoulders.

"When I'm sure those pills work, we can talk about you staying here at night."

"You're fine without them."

"And you're safer without me, but we're compromising, remember?"

Tris took in a deep, cleansing breath and let it all out while she twisted the kinks out of her neck.

"So, do you feel better?"

"Somewhat. But I won't really feel better until I've done something about it, you know? Unfinished business just weighs me down."

"Yeah, loose ends," he nodded, immediately drifting to his last session with Melissa.

"But, you're right. I need to do something about it, and I probably won't be able to figure it out on my own. So, can you take a look at the next drop for me?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," he mumbled, attempting to focus.

"I need to know who's taking stuff and when. Is it bad that I want it to be starving people? Just because there could be a better way to reach out to them so that they get what they need without taking from others. I can't let it go knowing there could be folks out there barely making it. From what everyone is saying, it's been mainly women and kids doing the stealing, but the numbers we have show there are only three percent less males than females. Makes you wonder where all the dads are..."

"Yeah," he nodded, his mouth dry and his chest tight. She expected him to continue the conversation, but he was lost in her statement, wondering why it took at least two people to convince him to act on anything. Was that his stubborn side, or was that the shame? And was anyone still alive in Milwaukee that could help him figure out if he'd done the right thing or if he'd made a mistake?

"Tobias. To-bias?" She had to pull on his arm a little to get him to look at her.

"Yeah, uh, the drop sites. I've got it. Just give me the info a day ahead if you can. I'll figure out a reason to be watching."

She eyed him, uneasy with his sudden distraction. "Yeah, I will. One more thing, before the train gets here: Christina put snakes in Zeke's locker."

"What?" He could have sworn he heard her wrong.

"It's a vendetta, but I know he's got a fear. So, you think you could help him out?"

"Ah, snakes? Why?"

"Longer story than we have time. They're in his boots and his coat."

"Yeah, okay."

They didn't have a chance to have more than a quick peck before the train was around the bend and Tris started to run after Christina. He hoped the boiler lines wouldn't take as long as he estimated so he could have time to dig around a dirty locker and finally tackle some letters.

* * *

**I'm interested to know what fandom has sucked you in. The Divergent fandom has slowed way down, so ya'll have to be getting your fan-girl/boy/persons thrill somewhere. What's tickling your fancy these days? What's the next exciting thing we should all be checking out?**

**Pop a review in the box and let me know what you think about the chapter, the trajectory, and shout out your favorite movie / book / tv series fandoms!**


	40. CH40: Confronting Fears

**You know the drill: Milner, BK2U put in their dandiest efforts to make this much more palatable. I didn't get through my usual thank you notes before posting. Please know, if you left a comment, I'm grateful. The journey continues...**

* * *

For the first time in months, Four felt a moment of relief.

He'd second guessed himself through every version of the letters he'd tried to perfect, waiting for the nerves to lift and the calm to settle in. Yet he still felt the heaviness pressing the center of his chest when three identical letters were sealed into three separate envelopes. It pressed even harder when he scrawled out the addresses, and his heart was close to exploding as he paid for the postage.

It wasn't until they left his hand and disappeared through the slot that he knew he'd at least tried something, and that it was better than doing nothing. He couldn't remake his decision, but at least he had stopped running, stopped hiding, and stopped pretending he would someday feel alright about his past. It was out of his hands now, and the pressure was gone. Four knew he hadn't tried everything, though, and he wondered briefly if he'd end up on a train or a bus, walking up a road into the city in the fall. But for now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Four's entire body ached for a rest, but no matter how much he hoped to finally have a long, dreamless sleep, Lauren was supposed to be leaving for her fence rotation on the midday train. After his discussion with George, he knew he needed more information. So, regardless of how bad of an idea it was to be pounding on her door at eight a.m. while barely able to keep himself awake, he was doing it. To his surprise, Rafael opened the door before he had his hand back down by his side—dressed, shaved, and ready to head out to the worksite in the city center.

"Four? You're a bit early. I got work, you know?" He laughed lightly, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Well, I'm looking for Lauren before she goes. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No worries, I'm on my way out." He squeezed Lauren's shoulder while he collected his lunch sack, and kissed her cheek before shuffling into the hallway.

Lauren looked much less ready to greet the day. She squinted into her teacup, her legs up on the chair and her hair splayed in every direction. Her loose t-shirt had holes at the seams, one of Four's particular pet peeves. He tried not to stare.

"What do you want?" She didn't bother to hide her grumpy side. She seemed hungover.

"Your advice."

"Mm-hmm. Not that you've taken it lately."

"Yeah, well. I'm making an appeal to your persistent side. I need your help." He ran his tongue over his teeth as she pulled her lips to one side and contemplated. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity where I'm going to be defenselessly embarrassed the entire time, and you'd have something on me for the rest of my life. It's your favorite type of situation."

She raised an eyebrow, swishing a gulp of tea around in her mouth. "Close the door then." She sighed as she put her feet down, and stood slowly to retrieve the tea kettle.

He set the deadbolt and sat across from her.

"Okay, Four. Skip to the juicy bits! I'm not feeling the long, drawn-out story today."

"Okay, well… Because of what we did for one another, I don't have anywhere else to go. So just... be nice," he prepped her.

Lauren sucked in her cheeks trying not to smile, immediately she sussed out the source of his discomfort. "It's about girl stuff... No. It's about _sex_. Because we never actually had sex. Am I right? But since everyone thinks we did you can't go ask Zeke, or you'll blow your cover."

He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I need to know how to do... _things._ For Tris."

"Okay, sure. You, being biologically male, have a penis, right? It's that thing that dangles between your legs that does all your thinking for you."

"I'm serious, Lauren."

"Just jump in and figure it out like everyone else. Why should you get a lesson?"

He paused. "Give me your word that this stays between us. You've never failed me before, but this is much more important than anything we've ever talked about."

She straightened, losing some levity in her response. "Yeah, of course. I'm always here for you, you know that."

"Yeah, for me. But this is for Tris, and I know you don't agree with what I'm doing or being with her, and this is deadly serious."

"You have my word, Four," she confirmed.

He chose his words carefully. "She's got a real fear. Of me... ahh... _forcing_ her to do things she doesn't want. And we've been close to… intimate a couple times and it's... I haven't seen many people react like that to their fears, just like once or twice. But watching her go through it was awful."

Lauren came to life, sitting forward and narrowing her eyes at him. "What? Where did this come from? Did you... Did you do something to her? You didn't—"

He shook his head before she could finish. "It was someone else! That's why I got sent to the fence. I lost it. I found him and I almost killed him."

Lauren read his posture, the worry written all over his face. Her stern glare softened almost instantly; he was telling the truth. "Shit, I'm sorry. How did you find out?"

"Amar. It's me in her fear because of how violent I can be, I think. What I… Well… When she restarted sims, she got stuck in this particular one. Just me, hurting her, over and over and over." He felt the familiar sick ache of his stomach churning. "I don't know exactly what he did to her, but she's hinted that what I did — what I do — in the sim might be even worse."

"I... I didn't... she's never said anything." Lauren stared off for a moment, wondering if she'd been underestimating Tris. "How can I help?"

"Well, she's got this fear and we both know it, but it's going to take time to overcome it, if she ever does at all. But she keeps initiating physical contact, and keeps pushing herself even when she's upset. She thinks I won't want to be with her without... without sex from her. And sooner rather than later."

"Well, would you?"

"What? Yeah, of course! I mean, it wouldn't be ideal, but yeah. Still, I'm not going to just give up, either."

"So you won't go without? You don't want to give up on something physical because you don't want a relationship without it."

Four blushed as he absorbed and accepted her statement. "It's not that I have to have it. It's just that it's important, you know? It's what separates friends and more than friends, and I want that with her. And she wants it from me, too, I think. She's just stuck, but she won't stop pushing, either. I'm fucking this up, aren't I?"

"You like her, you think she's pretty. It's okay to want to act on your attraction. It's just equally important to know that her pushing herself isn't because she has some misconception about things. She obviously knows that's something you require in a relationship."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to get it by ignoring a panic attack and raping her just to show her how bad of an idea it is."

Lauren cringed at his blunt words. "I guess you're just stuck in a waiting game, then."

Four sighed. "Well, like I said, she initiates. She pushed herself until she couldn't even breathe. Right now, I'd be happy to just kiss her, but she is so determined to make this happen even if she's not okay with it. And when I slow things down, she thinks I'm suddenly not interested. George suggested that we talk, do other things. I have to find other ways to give her the attention she wants that won't scare her. And I'd like to make the waiting easier on both of us."

Lauren rolled her eyes and sighed, "So, a blow job?"

"No! Well... maybe eventually. But right now, I just want to know how to make her feel good, make it enjoyable. I need to show her that she's safe with me and that we can go slower. And I could just wing it and figure it out, but if I screw up and I hurt her… Lauren, I can't hurt her." He was surprised how easy it was being so open. How easy it was to ask for help.

Lauren shifted back and smiled at him with a little bit of pride. "This has to be the most romantic conversation we have ever had," she teased. She hopped up after a moment, and walked over to her scant bookshelf, pulling out a pad of paper and rummaging in a cup for a pen.

"This needs instructions?" He started to feel worried.

"Well, if it didn't, you could make do off of locker room gossip. But trust me, it's better that you're here." She plopped down into the chair next to him. Her proximity startled him and he leaned away from her. She didn't seem to notice and took the extra space getting even closer. She made a couple swipes on the paper, then paused, "Okay, Four. You wanna know all our secrets? Let's start with the main one: every girl is going to be slightly different, so you are just gonna have to try a few things and figure it out. Second..." She swiveled the pad of paper around and started to draw. "If this is the vaginal opening and back that way is no-man's land, these are the lips of the labia and this... this is the clitoris. This is your new best friend."

He was wrong to feel at ease earlier. Lauren created pictures, complete with shading and all sorts of details and descriptions. She notated and labeled all the images his upbringing had taught him to look away from, and made him say the name of each part at least three times in a horrible quiz around the 'lady bits'.

Then, to his horror, she demonstrated using the tip of his finger and the tip of hers the level of pressure he should be using. He almost died when she made him demonstrate it back. She ignored his unease as she started to discuss the inner workings, the g-spot, and then proceeded to deliver a monologue about tongue technique that had his jaw firmly clamped shut behind a grimace.

"And that's about all I can tell you," she concluded with a wide grin on her face. He sighed and relaxed. "Well, there is one more thing." Four tensed again. "Zeke's known that we were never a thing ever since you puked all over my shower, you asshole. So I guess you could have gone to him. Not that he was any good at this shit back when we fooled around. Rafael, however, is excellent at this stuff."

"Great. First you tell Amar, and now you've told Zeke?"

"I didn't tell anyone. Zeke saw that tattoo on your back and I was too shocked to look anything but surprised. You should have mentioned you got more than just the flames on your shoulders."

"Then who told Amar?"

Lauren looked around, debated, then did what came naturally. "Rafael got a little drunk. Well, a lot drunk."

"Raf? You told Raf?"

"Uh, yeah. We're together. And it's okay, Four. No one is gonna blame you. It's pretty obvious that the whole Dauntless-male motif doesn't work for you. You're much more mature about matters of the heart than most."

He stood stiffly, trying to find a response and make a quick exit without seeming rude. Lauren wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug. "You're doing the right thing, doing it this way. Believe me, you don't want to rush it. And I'm glad I could help you out since you helped me when I was recovering from something similar."

He straightened at her sudden confession. "I... didn't know." He put his hands around her, suddenly protective of her even if no one else was there.

"Yeah, well, I thought you might have guessed from my fears. Then again, you were always a bit dense about girls," she teased.

* * *

"I think you're overreacting." Four started to peel the tape off of his knuckles, picking at the corner with the sliver of fingernail on his left index finger.

"I have three stitches in my head. My reputation is irreparably damaged. I can't even shoot! I gotta have a frickin' wipe on my tail on patrol! I have to carry the communications!"

"You'll be fine. Everyone will forget, eventually." Four rolled his eyes, wincing when the tape pulled up a scab.

"I know it was her."

"Then you're all set. You don't need anything from me. Go exact your revenge and then she'll come back at you and then back and forth, back and forth, until one of you goes too far. Then Harrison or Scout or whoever has to get involved."

"This was too far! What I need to know is if Tris was in on it. If she was… then look out." Zeke's eyes were wide and maniacal. His left hand clutched around the splint on his right wrist, squeezing it like he needed the pain as a further reminder of the slights against him.

Four knew where this would go, how it would escalate. How no one would actually get hurt and that it would be a little amusing to see Tris on the receiving end of some Dauntless justice. But if he showed Zeke the camera outside the patrol locker room, he might accidentally go too far and seal his own fate. It wouldn't matter that he removed _most_ of the snakes, because unfortunately for Zeke, he didn't know there were two in each coat pocket, and that one had slithered into a little ball deep in the corner. He didn't even think to check the holster on his belt.

"No. It stops here. If you want to go and target Christina or Tris or both, go ahead. But I'm out. I'm not getting between my brother and my girlfriend."

"Okay, but you'll help me get Christina, right?"

Four shook his head. "Sort of my girlfriend's best friend. You're on your own."

"Coward."

"Baby."

"Pussy-whipped."

"Yeah, hold that against me," Four snorted.

"What happened to you?" Tris interjected with alarm, approaching from the locker room.

"As if you don't know." Zeke squinted dramatically and pointed a finger at her. "I'm wise to your game, Prior. Playing innocent, acting like she operated alone. Who were you with yesterday evening, before the train? Who took you home?"

Tris glanced at Four quickly. "Well, Christina took me home, but Four and I talked in the train yard before that."

Zeke turned his accusations on Four, who confirmed, "That's true. We were talking until the train got here, right after I got done with Amar. And then I went and worked on the boiler so you all could have some hot water. That is all I know."

"And before?"

"I was in here, training… with you," Tris reminded him.

"And where was Christina?"

Tris stayed silent, the omission ensuring her friend's fate.

"Don't think I'm not keeping an eye on you," Zeke warned, rushing away to plot his next move.

"What happened?" Tris stared after him.

"Well, you see, he has this fear. Maybe you were aware of it? He sort of can't stand snakes," Four leveled at her.

"It wasn't my idea," she held her hands up in defense. "At least I told you about them. So, what happened? How'd he get the brace?"

"Well, I tried to get all the snakes out later on, but I missed a couple. When he found the one in his holster, he lost his balance and hit his head. Then when he was trying to get his bearings, he found one in his coat pocket and went down and caught himself wrong. Sprained his wrist."

"Oh, jeez." Tris started to feel bad.

"He'll get over it. It's not the worst that's ever happened." Four ran his hand down her arm and into her hand. "So what are your plans?"

"Um, I need to shoot, and to climb, and probably shoot again."

"Good. I'm too tired to run," he yawned mid-sentence. "So, what is it that's giving you so much trouble?"

"Well, I get the first shot and the second right on target, but I have to slow way down to keep from drifting after that. And then I can't quite get the number of rounds off inside the time. My shoulder just can't hold that position that long."

"Okay, come on. I'll help you figure out a better way to brace." He stood up and led her over to the weapons cage.

Tris seemed strong in every other way, yet holding her arm out in front of her at eye level was more than her muscles could bear for long. He switched her to a more tucked position, her left elbow bent down to her side, and her right braced against her torso as well. It took a while to get there, and the results were mixed, but all in all she seemed to do better.

Even though she was much more confident on the range, Four used the excuse to be right next to her. With his face so close to hers, his smell competed with the smoke and residue, his touch light and comforting. He had to raise his voice to be heard through the ear defenders, and the vibration along with his breath put her thoughts as far away from chaste as a Candor strip show. His proximity combined with her innate trust in him as an instructor, and she felt like she could do anything he asked.

Tris made one run up the wall almost in line with Four the entire way and repelled down. Four pulled his shirt up to wipe his face and one stolen glance at his stomach had Tris distracted.

"Again?" Four asked, readying his ropes and confirming with Derrick on belay.

"How was my time?" She asked Ro quickly.

"Oh, I didn't track it, but you were just behind Four so… must have been pretty good." Ro shrugged.

"So, again?" Four asked.

Tris stepped close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him and to keep the others from listening.

"My shoulder," she quietly mumbled. If she played it right, he'd let her come back to his apartment.

"It hurts? It's tight? What?" Four said louder than she wanted.

"It's sore. I shouldn't push it. I was in time. I can do it again, I'm sure," she stated quickly.

"Then shooting again?"

"Do you have some of that mint cream?" she asked, starting to unhook her harness.

"I don't keep it down here."

"Well?" Ro prompted, getting impatient.

"We're done. Thanks guys." Four tugged at Tris's harness, a thin excuse for touching her in front of Ro.

With his apartment door shut, he could tell by the force she used to pull him in close that there was nothing wrong with her shoulder. Still, she froze up a little when he walked her backwards towards his bed.

"Slow," he reminded them both, feeling guilty for pushing her the minute they were alone.

"Mm-hmm, no rush." She was biting her lip mischievously, her hands sliding under his shirt and pulling him the rest of the way.

He smiled, arguing with himself on how to proceed. He settled on putting an arm across her collarbone to hold her in place when he sat next to her, his knee slightly behind her back.

It took a moment to get her to relax, to allow him to move around her and sit with her between his legs. He could tell she was confused, nervous, doubtful when he didn't pursue her.

He gave her shoulders the lightest touch, letting time — not pressure — soothe her aches, whether they were fake or real. He took his time, rubbing down her back, over her hips, around to the tops of her thighs. His lips glided over her neck; he grinned when he felt the flush spread under her skin as she arched back.

He wasn't as smooth as he wanted to be when he fished up the lower hem of her shirt to find the button on her pants. Then again, it gave Tris ample time to reconsider. She prepared herself with long breaths, stretching up her torso to un-cramp her lungs. The awkward searching brought a giggle to her lips and her hand to his wrist. She undid the button for him, blushing hotter when his hand slid down to the inside of her thigh.

He stopped, pulling back, cursing himself. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I like it," she insisted, putting his hand back down on her leg.

"It's pushy. I'm not going to be pushy. I'm just going to enjoy getting to be near you."

"But, it's nice. And I want to keep going."

He couldn't tell from her tone if she meant it. "Okay, but... how will I know when it's too much?"

"I guess, ask?"

"Then I'm going to be asking every other breath," he chuckled and sighed. His hands circled around her waist, his chin on her shoulder. It relaxed him to have her within his arms. "How about you ask?" He got a little excited at the ideas that popped into his head. Little fantasies of Tris ordering him around, of being commanded, whet his appetite for her even more. He tried to set them aside and focus on their awkward reality.

To keep himself from accidentally pushing her, Four instituted the idea immediately: he would make her ask for each and every progression. It had the desired effect of slowing him way down, as well as two others. One, Tris was thoroughly mortified, and two, she felt painfully in control. The collision of the two made her too embarrassed to outright ask for most things. He called it 'drastic consent', but she called it torture.

"Keep going?" Tris squeaked when he paused.

"With what?" he teased, wiggling his thumb against her.

Once, before initiation, before Four, she'd touched herself sort of like he'd been touching her. It was just something she'd accidentally overheard at school and couldn't help exploring. Yet, despite her conversation with Christina, she couldn't even bring herself to properly ask other than saying she wanted to know more about how he could use his hands.

"Well, um… It's not that complicated. I would just touch you… err… with my hands. Maybe use my fingers to try and make you feel good." His voice was shaky while he explained, then he took a big breath, maybe information would help, "Well, there's this thing called the clitoris… and if I touch it right it'll feel good and then there's this other thing… the g-spot..." It was worse than Lauren's quiz.

Tris looked concerned and unconvinced.

"I, um… I don't know Tris. This is new to me, too," he admitted. He started to pull away from her, his hands coming back down her thighs.

"No, keep touching me. Let's try it," she mumbled, biting her lip, feeling his thumb slide against her in the strangest sensation until he found something she didn't know existed and her legs jumped a little.

Her moan was enough encouragement for him to shift so he was on his knees between hers, both hands massaging and probing out the source of each sound. Tris blushed and scattered her glances around the room, avoiding his insistent stare, clapping her hands over her eyes occasionally and peeking out more than once.

He rested his cheek against her leg and thumbed her clit with one hand; her hips jumped each time he passed over the top in his pattern. He took a risk, withdrawing to pull her panties all the way off, to expose her. She tensed until he was back circling with his thumb, spreading her and sliding a finger inside with his other hand. Tris's fingers covered his view.

"Let me see." He gently batted her hands away.

"No, don't look." She tried to cover his eyes before he caught her hand and kissed it.

"You have nothing to be worried about. Now let me see," he insisted. She covered her eyes again.

He tried to remember what Lauren had explained. He felt horrible letting another girl into his head, but at least it wasn't in an overtly sexual way. He recalled the finger motions and the picture and the overly personal information he wished he didn't know about his best friend, but it was his best chance at skipping the fumbling and introducing Tris to something pleasurable.

He started by probing in, flexing his fingers and feeling the texture. He was surprised to feel differences that his cock was either unable to discern or were numbed away by the condom. She laid still and looked concerned, uncomfortable. He pushed in again, deeper, curling his finger to press into her walls in different places. Still nothing. He started to wonder if what he was feeling was one of those differences between girls that meant it wouldn't work. Tris looked like she was going to chew through her lip, or maybe start crying. He made one more attempt: sliding in, curling his fingertip up towards her stomach and dragging slowly back out until her breath caught in her throat and he knew he'd found exactly what he was looking for.

The expression on her face, the quick heaves of her torso and the writhing rock of her hips made him wish for a third hand, something to selfishly ease his own discomfort. He slipped in a second finger, watching a pinched, pained expression cross her face. He stopped instantly.

"No, keep going." Her eyes snapped open, and her jaw trembled a little before she licked her lips and smiled, reassuring him.

"Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm, this is good," she nodded quickly. She felt an embarrassing humiliation with each involuntary sound, like her body was teasing her for doubting him.

He was rewarded with more soft sounds, and the sight of her hand sliding up her shirt to rub at her nipple. His fingers ached as he fluttered, then switched hands and tried to ride the bucking of her hips. Her stifled moans made him ache and beg for her to come. He couldn't help but tell her: he just wanted to feel her come. Words that would have made either of them laugh if it weren't in the moment.

Her heart was pounding, her breathing fast and jerky, her whole body tense and rigid. His lingering fingers between her thighs gave one last flick before coming to rest on her heaving stomach. It wasn't enough to watch her, he needed to feel her with his lips and taste her on his tongue. When her eyes fell shut, he dipped down to sneak a lick, not knowing it would be ten minutes before her hands would let him back up for air. At least his own hand was free to give himself a sloppy release while she was distracted.

He dashed into the bathroom to shimmy out of his wet shorts and towel off quickly before pulling his pants back on and buckling them securely, thinking that maybe she wouldn't notice. He crawled up the bed and back between her legs. His hands were still eager to touch her, feel her, his lips insistent on mapping every inch of her stomach. She squealed as he tickled her, scratching her with his stubble with every kiss.

"So?" he asked, patiently working his way up under her shirt.

She shrugged. "So?"

"I mean, did it feel good?"

"Well..." She let her voice drift and his heart sank.

"I'm sorry. It looked like you liked it. You should have told me I would have stopped." He popped his chin up over the shirt, panic shooting through his chest.

"Are you kidding? I'm teasing you." She lightly smacked his shoulders, rubbing her finger tips into his scalp. "My God, I've never felt like that before."

He laid his head on the center of her stomach. His arms gripped her sides and his thumbs played with the sides of her breasts, entertaining himself with a smile. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his neck.

It was strange to lay with him like that, her lower body bare and involuntarily relaxed, both of them drowsy. The tingling chemicals that were dissipating slowly out of her system were replaced by a concern that grew into worry. His lips on her stomach, on her scars, launched her guilt up into her throat. He could feel the tension creep into her body.

"What's the matter?" He kissed just above her belly button.

"Did you want me to do anything for you? I mean, I should, right? It's not fair. To make up for..."

"No, I'm fine." He kissed her again. "I, ahh, took care of it when you were... occupied." He was sure she could feel him blushing, but she didn't relax at his assurances. "Maybe next time. If, you know, there is a next time. There doesn't have to be. I mean, I want there to be, but if you don't, that's okay," he rambled.

"Okay, next time." She thought about adding 'if I pass', but didn't want to ruin the moment. She curled her fingers around his wrist and played with the hairs on his arm, trying not to think about failing her landscape.

He couldn't bring himself to ask her to leave. He didn't want to imagine how her face would look if he didn't let her stay. He glanced at the floor, then thought about the pills. He waited for her to fall asleep before slipping out to the bathroom, the unopened bottle of pills striking a sense of shame in him before he swallowed one with a sip of water.

He was brought out of a deep sleep with a smile on his face, feeling her move beside him. The brush of her bare legs and the press of her skin to his stomach reminded him of the previous night. As awkward as it was, it had satisfied the most primal edge in that moment. He willed his arms to move, but they felt like they were locked in heavy restraints. His eyes were barely able to open and fell shut quickly. In his mind, his wandering, clumsy hands examined the firmness of her body at the same time as easing her awake. The temptation to take advantage of her being nearly naked was only balanced by the memory of her panic attack. He thought better of sliding his fingers back down between her legs before realizing he was drifting in and out of a dream.

Tris rolled over and rested her head against his chest, murmuring something unintelligible before stretching with a squeak. Her arm wrapped over him and squeezed him tightly before she roused herself to the bathroom. He had to concentrate to move his head and start to free himself from sleep.

"I don't remember dreaming," he stated, looking at her concerned and all the same hopeful. He was shaking his hands, marveling at the dulled sense of touch.

"You didn't wake me up if you did," she said with a smile, collecting her clothes from the floor.

"Good." He let out a sigh, allowing himself to smile. It was as close to something real as he could hope for.

"How can you sleep in your jeans like that? The seams would drive me nuts."

"I, um… I… fell asleep real quick."

"Did you try the pills?" He avoided eye contact and swung his legs off the side of the bed. "It's okay. I take them too, remember."

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, looking around before starting towards the bathroom. Tris grabbed his arm and stopped him. "It's fine, Tobias. There's nothing wrong with it." Her hand pushed his face so he had to look at her. "It worked, right?"

When she finally got him to nod, she took advantage, pecking his lips and smiling. "And you can tell me, you know. In case you don't hear your alarm and I'm here, I can make sure you get up. Just, don't lose track about how often you use them. They say three days, but really you need a few days to recover again, or at least I need like a day for every day I take one or I start missing my alarm."

"Yeah, okay." He nodded, pulling away from her. He couldn't shake the groggy feeling. It acted as a constant reminder that he had to be suppressed to keep her safe. It made him reconsider everything, over again. Tris patiently waited, ready to smile as soon as he looked up. But he didn't look at her or say anything else until he was offering her eggs and tea.

"Do you think we could do this again today? After training?" Tris had lost a little enthusiasm in her wait.

Four gave her a half smile and a shrug that bled into a nod. It was her choice to take the risk. It felt nice to continue to be her choice.

* * *

**SillyFluffyChild popped out of nowhere and finished "The Third Pedrad". If you haven't read it, go and do that. :)**

**Last time fandoms this time book suggestions? I'm about to go on vacation and I've about finished _The Black Dahlia_. Any non-romance (not the main point of the book, anyways), maybe Sci-Fi or Timey-Wimey stuff?**

**So, hope y'all liked the chapter. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, the noises you made while reading, all that fun stuff. Don't hold it in, express yourself by clicking into the comments field and typing up a storm.**


	41. CH41: No Regrets

**This turned out a little longer than I had anticipated, but that's what happens when I mull on something for months. Enjoy this update, I don't have any commitments for when the next update will be, but chapter 42 is mostly done, finding time to finish it is the hard part. **

**I'll put the plug up here and at the bottom because one-shots get lost so quickly. I wrote a short one-shot called "Let me get a Pikachu!" which has been described as "cute" and "fluffy" and all things Something New has not. So if you want to see a different side to my writing (one where everyone keeps their fingers) then click into my profile and let me know what you think. Also, share, share, share. One shots only sit on the front page for like 1-2 days and then they slide deeper and deeper day by day.**

**Many thanks to BK2U for her generous assistance. And to Milner for her steadfast tolerance for pre-reading my writing.**

* * *

Tris knew she shouldn't skip the practice sessions that Amar was offering, not in the last days before her final landscape. But at the same time, she didn't want to ruin her afternoons with Tobias, and the way she had to give up control wasn't dissimilar to practicing. And if she did fail, she was certain her shooting would be the cause. Besides, what would one or two more sessions do against fears that hadn't changed since she'd restarted? And would she really be better at manipulating it or surviving through the worst if she did it a few more times?

She couldn't use her time with Tobias as an excuse with Amar, not without risking death by embarrassment, so she feigned a headache one day and said she didn't want to risk nightmares when she had morning meetings the other. She was surprised at how eager she was to slip away to Tobias's apartment; the lies came easier and easier. If Amar detected them, he was kind enough not to say so. A leftover sense of modesty made her feel a little guilty, but she couldn't really bring herself to feel ashamed.

The door was barely shut before she started to pull him to his bed. Tobias knew they should be talking more and messing around less, but he couldn't say no to the opportunity to tease her body through longer and longer sessions. Extending and escalating the depths of her pleasure was at the forefront of his mind, all day, constantly, with shameful effect on him. He managed to sneak in his own release, always when she was both distracted and at her most arousing. He even tried to get it out of his system before she hopped off the train, but he had grossly underestimated his body's capacity where Tris was involved.

Cleaned up and lying relaxed and quiet, Tobias wavered on the edge of sleep. If it weren't for her small but constant movements, he'd have been out. Lazily, Tris drew patterns on his chest, following the ridges in the fabric of his tank top down to his belt and back up before slipping under and up against his abs. She let her hand play over his muscles until it found the swath of scar tissue on his side. She had noticed it months before when she was kissing him and couldn't keep her hands off his skin, but she'd never asked. The lingering touch did all the asking for her.

"I got it in a fight, when I killed that guy. I couldn't stitch it myself and no one else would. Raf is worthless with first aid. I should warn Amar."

"Let's think about something more pleasant," she said, rubbing her face into his skin. She bit her lip and breathed through the small wave of anxiety from her own idea.

Her hand slid down over his stomach and then slowed to a crawl as she lifted her palm, pushing just her fingertips lower. He drew in a lungful of air and let her continue as a powerful urge surged up. She hesitated, tense, her fingers shaking in their stalled position.

His hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. "I'm okay. Don't worry about that," Tobias assured her. He was too afraid of pushing her back into a panic attack.

She withdrew her hand from his as her thoughts dove down deep to the very core of her fear. How long would they last in a one-sided relationship? The centimeters she put between them as she contracted spoke volumes.

"You know what I would like?" he prompted. She stayed silent, but closed her eyes, knowing he was about to redirect her. "More of you."

It took some deep kisses and firm, massaging hands before her worries faded and she began to relax. His attention paid off when he had her worked up and writhing, again. Tris didn't hide her disappointment well when he dropped hints, then flat out told her she had to leave. He lied about a shift to make it easier to get her to go. He twirled the bottle of pills between his fingers. Being prideful was a selfish behavior: he was too selfish to take one for her. He couldn't help ruminating on selfishness for most of the night.

{}

Tris didn't have time to register that she was in the way before she was slammed hard into the wall. The blur of bodies that hurtled through the corridors didn't even attempt an apology before they were gone. The few other members that were around were chuckling and moving on. Tris tried to shake the sting out of her shoulder, but the ache lingered deep in her muscle, throbbing incessantly, nagging her when she tried to lift her hand above her head in a stretch.

The rush of bodies came full circle: Hector and two of his friends spilled out into the training center through the side door, then split up. The number of people chasing them had expanded from one to three.

Anxo tripped one, sending him down in a rolling pile of limbs. Ro reached out and snatched another's collar, jerking him backwards off his feet, while Four put out an arm and noosed Hector into a bruising headlock. Four, ever in control, made it look graceful and gentle the way he laid him out on the floor and held him until Anxo could take him into custody.

Tris kept rotating her arm, getting the blood moving and evaluating the continued pain. She approached, glaring. "What the hell is so damned important you gotta be shoving people around?" She gave Hector a rough nudge with her shoe. Christina came huffing through the crowd, her face covered in white powder.

Four looked at Tris, a little shocked at her anger, but couldn't keep a straight face upon seeing Christina.

"One of you take a cuff," Anxo barked while staring at Christina. His captive was still fighting, while Four was manipulating Hector onto his back. She looked back blankly. "On my hip," Anxo directed, turning a little so she could see better.

She pulled out the plastic and looped it around Hector's wrists. Four heaved him up onto his feet. Tris saw slack in the line and pulled the tabs tighter, giving an extra tug.

"Ow! Come on, it was just a prank," Hector complained. Tris tightened it even more.

With all three boys zip-tied together in an awkward triangle, Anxo started the slow migration to the compound's holding cells.

"You gotta be careful with the wrist ties, you can cut off circulation," Tobias mentioned, dusting off the knees of his pants.

"Whatever." She stretched her arm again.

"You okay?" Tobias directed at Christina.

"Zeke," she growled, turning and stomping away.

"Did I not warn her? Are you okay?" Tobias watched Tris hold her shoulder with her right hand while she moved it.

"Fine. Just got slammed into a wall, but it's cool. Just kids being fucking kids."

Tobias's eyebrows inched up; Tris hardly ever cursed. "I was thinking about doing something different today. You want to head out with me?" he offered, hoping a change of scenery might help her mood.

"Like what?"

"I like to run outside sometimes. It's a nice day. It's warm. Nice breeze. Just would be nice to get out of here."

"Nice. Sure. Yeah, good idea. But I have to shoot today."

"We'll be back in plenty of time, I'll keep an eye on the clock." He held out his hand to her; she took it with a reluctant smile.

Tris's foul mood continued through the run out along the train tracks and back through the alleys. A session on the range tempered her slightly. Oddly, she insisted on shooting on her own, so he watched her through the glass. At first, she was doing much better: the new stance made her more accurate, but her grouping deteriorated from one magazine to the next. Despite the bleak calculation, she looked satisfied and excited when she came out. He didn't dare mention her stats.

Four was about to suggest they clean up and call it a night but she beat him to it.

"What are you doing after dinner?" she prompted, biting her lip.

"Um… I ah…" He was eager to get her alone. He even toyed with fantasies where Tris overcame her fears, and was mapping possible moves to help her, when Amar appeared in his peripheral vision. Amar gave him a thumbs up that he turned sideways and back up, asking about her performance. He answered with a shrug. It reminded Four that Tris wasn't in yet. That she was still teetering in so many ways between factionless and Dauntless. And besides her shooting, her landscape was coming up. He and Tris were a long way off from building the trust she would need to conquer anything, and one more trauma wouldn't help their goals. But Tris was getting more insistent each day since their first exploration. They'd turned their activities into a progressive routine.

"I… I have a bit of server maintenance to do tonight and there's a door frame that needs welding on the fifth floor." He launched his excuses, again, just like the last two nights, as was part of the pattern. He lied about work, they fooled around, they fought tit for tat until she agreed to go back to Christina's. So far, the little fights didn't deter her. It seemed no matter how heated their discussion, they were back at his apartment kissing instead of talking, and then arguing instead of sleeping. And clearly they were headed back there, again.

"You have a shift at ten?" She tried to throw him by saying the wrong time. She didn't sound convinced.

"Nine. These maintenance shifts start at nine." He wondered if she'd checked and discovered that all of the shifts in Harrison's groups started at seven, not just the control room.

"Well, I need to get my bag before I go. It's up in Christina's apartment. I need an escort. I promise I won't make you late, again."

Four agreed with relief. There was some safety in following her to Christina's instead of his apartment: having someone else present would rein them both in. He eagerly followed, and even playfully kissed her when they stepped inside. He was happy for the boundaries until he noticed her roommate's absence.

When she started to kiss him deeper, holding him tight to her, he had to push her back. He quickly provided an excuse, saying he was tired, hungry, and that he didn't have the energy. For good measure, he mumbled mix-matched technical talk about the maintenance that had to be run.

"Oh, I'm a little hungry, too. We have apples and we have carrots. It's not much, but it's something," she offered, pulling out little bags of cut carrots.

The silence while they ate felt strange. "I should go," Four commented, pushing away from the table.

"Why? Your shift is at nine, it's only seven."

"I'm tired and I haven't even showered. I could get in a nap."

"A nap? Now?"

"Yeah, well, my sleep schedule is pretty off."

"Stay here — you can shower and take a nap on the couch. I can finish some work while you do, and then we can spend more time together. Maybe you can come back later tonight and you can spend the night?" she smiled, hopeful.

He hesitated; her smile fell and her eyes followed. She turned and made herself busy putting away clean dishes.

"Tris…" he sighed. He watched the last thread of will sever and she backed down. He watched her break.

"I know. I'm not safe, you don't want to hurt me. It's best for both of us. Thank you for training with me," she mumbled. Dishes away, she threw the half-finished bags of carrots at the trashcan; they hit with a loud thud. She walked past him, her eyes never lifting.

"Tris…" He pulled her hand. "Don't be like that."

"Like what? I'm fine," she lied. "You should go, you have things to do."

"You're not fine. You're disappointed."

"I'm… confused. You want me to be more Abnegation, and I'm too forward," she nodded to convince herself.

"No, it's not about who you are. You're great. It's about me, and you being safe, and, you know, I'm not in control of myself."

She pulled her hand away from his. "But the sleeping pills… I mean… you have a solution. You just don't want me to be with you like that, right?"

"Of course I do. I just don't know if the pills even work!" he defended. "Or I'd stay with you every night."

"You tried them once and they worked fine," she challenged.

"They're at my place."

"Well, bring them here. Or, take one of mine."

"Tris, we should really be talking more and fooling around less."

"Fine, talk. Tell me how I'm stupid for wanting this. Tell me how I'm all you want, then treat me like you don't really want a relationship with me. You treat me like a friend." When he didn't, she nodded and slumped against the counter, waiting for him to leave.

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. "I do want a relationship with you, in every sense. I do want to stay with you. I do want all of that. I swear. I'm just afraid of hurting you."

"Well, you already are, and it doesn't seem to bother you. So just go, it doesn't matter anyways." Tris dismissed herself, and headed for her room.

"It does matter. I'm sorry." Four blocked her path. "I'm really sorry. I don't want to hurt you, ever, in any way."

The only cure to the impasse was to give Tris the affection she was craving. Four hugged her, held her, cradled her tightly around her torso and felt her melt into him. He pulled back and he kissed her — softly, lightly, then fully. He rested his forehead against hers and she took over. He was stuck between their shared desires and doing the right thing. He had to try and keep her from taking it further than they already had. But, if their recent pattern was any indication, it would be a hard task. Kissing his girlfriend shouldn't have made him so nervous.

She maneuvered him to the couch and pulled him down on top of her. He was tentative, but she seemed sure. He set his boundaries in his mind and tried to stick with them, but the lines started to blur when her hands slid up under his shirt.

"Tobias," she panted, pulling at his curling hair. He detached briefly from her collarbone and instead smothered her next words with his lips. "Tobias, bedroom," she managed to get out.

"Why?" he challenged, pushing his hands up under her shirt. "We're comfortable here."

"On the couch?"

"Why not?" He slipped one hand under the band of her bra and cupped her breast. Being in a shared space helped establish one small boundary firmly in his mind, one that her request confirmed she shared.

"People sit here."

"So?" he chuckled against her neck, amused that she was the one trying to hold him off for once. He let his second hand slip to tug on the button of her pants, asking permission.

"So, bedroom," she tried again, her hands stubbornly stuck on the sides of his face, holding him off.

"We will," he confirmed, pulling away from her waist and back under her shirt. "In a minute."

He pushed through her hands and pulled her shirt up, waiting a moment for her to stop him before completing the action. He did the same with the cup of her bra before he pulled it down. She wasn't in any mood to actually stop him. She let out a gasp with the touch of his tongue to her nipple and nearly forgot that rooms existed when she let his hand slide under her waistband and press into her.

"What if I'm ready to try again?" she asked, getting her bearings and noting his slightly rhythmic rubbing against her thigh. He froze, suddenly conscious of his movement. "I'm ready. I feel really good about it."

"Are you?"

She almost laughed, seeing how he licked his lips, his eyes searching hers. She nodded.

"Tris…"

"I want to," she insisted, chewing on her lip while he contemplated her statement.

"If you even feel a tickle of nerves, we stop. There are other things we can do," he asserted. His mind was already starting to sort through options to distract her.

"If I even think of being nervous," she assured, pulling his lips into a long, slow kiss.

She shrieked as he swiftly pulled her up and over his shoulder; the playfulness was a good cover for the pain that wracked through her back. He gently kissed up her side as he set her down slowly on her feet and locked his lips with hers. She couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach, wondering if she could keep it together long enough to give him what he wanted.

"If you want to, I'm going to follow your lead." He grinned, kissing her temple.

"Oh? This again?" She walked in front of him to her bedroom door.

"It's important. This is serious. I will never be your nightmare. So, tell me what to do, or you know, just do what you want with me." He blushed, and his stomach flipped when she closed the door.

"So, if I want these off, right now?" she asked, tugging at his pocket, noting how close to the tip of his penis her finger was. She retracted quickly.

His breathy chuckle punctuated his point. "If you want 'em off, you take them off. Otherwise, they can stay on."

"And if I want to touch you?"

"You can touch me anywhere, any way you want. So, just touch. Or don't."

She contemplated for a few seconds before pulling at the button and peeling back one side. She let the force bring the zipper down rather than touching it herself. Her cheeks swelled with heat and her heart accelerated. He kissed her temple when she had to take a half step in to push his pants down.

"What if I do something wrong?"

"I'll tell you if you, like, hurt me or something. But there's basically no way to do it wrong — for me, anyways." He laughed, playfully arching his eyebrows. "Same rules as grappling: no grab-and-twists, and no biting."

"No biting, right."

She took a deep breath as she considered the implication of mentioning teeth. She was simultaneously relieved to have some idea of what he wanted, and horrified that she didn't take the opportunity to ask Christina about it. She had quickly diverted their conversation to what he was offering and forgot about his part in the deal. Then again, how complicated could it be?

Tris sat back on the bed, finding herself face to face with the tent in his shorts. She pulled him forward, using the cloth on his thigh and froze, staring. He stroked her face then crouched down on his knees in front of her.

"You only do what you want, okay? I can keep going instead. There's no rush."

He offered a reassuring smile, running his hands up her thighs, letting a finger curl under the waist of her pants. She returned his grin and lifted her butt off the mattress so he could pull them off her. With them low around her waist, her hands halted his.

"What?" He kissed her arm, tugging playfully on her pants.

"It's not fair." She shook her head, snapping out of her contemplations and pushing her anxiety aside. "Stand up, I can do this."

"Tris, it's not about fair, it's about being with you. It's supposed to be about learning what you like, and I like figuring that out. If doing things for you makes you feel good, then that's what I want to do. And if you never want anything else, I'm okay with that, too. I like doing this with you. I can take care of myself later." The red that spread out from the tips of his ears and through his cheeks down to his neck paired with the bashful drop of his eyes to anywhere but hers made her believe him, made her trust him even more.

"I'm okay, I can do this," she beamed, bolstered by his statement.

"Tris, let's just focus on you. I'm not going to mess up your landscape with another bad experience."

"Stand up, Tobias. Now." He withered a little under her stern stare.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and chuckled as he stood. Unsure about where to put his hands, he gripped them behind his back. She slid her index fingers under the band of his underwear and around to his hips before she started pulling them down.

They'd been naked together, they'd had sex, and she certainly knew the basics of what a penis should look like from school books. But she'd never really looked at him, all of him, until he was eye level in front of her, bobbing like a tree limb in the wind. She laughed at herself, at the ruffle of apprehension that churned in her stomach and the absurdity of how embarrassed something so natural could make her.

She glanced up at him. Tobias was watching her carefully, her laugh hardly comforting. He pretended to scratch an itch on his side, and contemplated covering himself. She smiled up at him; he took a deep breath and let his hands hang from loose arms, clenching and opening as he played with each finger. His teeth nibbled his lip where the ring used to be — a lingering habit despite the absence of hardware. She looked back down, not quite sure where to start.

Tris reached out, running her hand over the top of his cock like she was stroking a dog, smirking at the thought. The softness of his skin surprised her, almost as much as the stiffness. She closed her thumb around the underside and stroked back down, dragging his foreskin tight. He let out a relieved breath and pushed his hands through her hair, caressing her temples with his thumbs.

"Like this?"

"Sure, like that." His rhythmic and weighted breaths confirmed he liked it more than his words. He was suddenly excited that she might not force him on top of her.

"It's so... hard," she said, prompting him to chuckle a little. Tris placed her free hand on his stomach, pushing up his shirt so she could feel his muscles and trace the deep v from his abdomen to his hipbones. His eyes were intensely focused on her face with a hint that he was craving more. She pulled her hand away and his entire expression morphed into a panicked lust that begged her back. She liked feeling in control of someone so powerful, knowing she had exactly what he wanted.

"Shirt off," she demanded, tucking her hands under her thighs like a protest. He didn't argue, whipping it over his head and onto the floor. "Tank top, too..." She wiggled side to side and pursed her lips together.

He paused with clear hesitation, and played with the hem. He hadn't thought about how her examining eyes would make him feel. Before, she was the one that needed assurances, so focused on herself that he wasn't worried about her looking at him. Between the two of them, she was still strong, toned, beautiful; he was thin and weak, and she was asking for a display.

Tobias took a deep breath and made an excuse. "I'm going to get the muscle back, I just... I'm not there, yet." Despite his reluctance, he complied, standing naked and silently pleading with her not to say anything. She smirked, pinching her lower lip between her teeth before flicking her tongue out to wet her lips and letting her eyes drift away from his face.

He had nothing to be ashamed of, even if he was thinner than he used to be. His muscles were more defined and looked more natural on his frame. She grazed her hands over his stomach, a flutter in her chest keeping her touch light. Tris pulled on the backs of his thighs, bringing him closer until his knees touched the edge of the mattress. Her hands explored up his legs and over his ass to circle his hips. He had said she could touch him anywhere, but there was surprise in his expression.

Her hands drifted on a mission to discover what could drive his need to impatience. Nothing she touched increased his expression past pleading, until she traced the path of her fingers across his stomach with the press of her lips. His hands roamed down from her head to her shoulders, finding her breasts briefly before massaging her muscles, encouraging her while she sucked his skin in and slid to a fresh, untouched patch. He held his breath, hands still as she crossed down and his cock slid against her cheek.

"You want something?" she asked, looking up at the desperation on his face. He let out a gasp and recollected his thoughts, pushing her hair back and behind her ears.

"You're a tease," he laughed, not quite believing she had it in her.

"I'd hate to push you into anything. And, maybe I don't know what to do." She raised a playful eyebrow. "I mean, I could try..."

She planted her lips against the base of his cock and ran her hand down; his legs shook for a moment. "Or..." She ran her tongue up following her hand, deciding it was then or never to taste his tip and slide him in.

He sighed in relief, watching one of his fantasies being enacted right in front of him. The visual alone pushed him halfway to release, her lack of rhythm easily forgiven. He was transfixed on her while she figured out how to use her lips and her tongue, seeing how deep she could take him — the uncoordinated attempt gave him time to savor the experience. She concentrated hard on not gagging, or at least not sounding like it was happening.

She paused, pulling away for air and to recover control over her throat, her hand moving over him instead. "Is that right at all? Is that how I should?"

"It's not wrong." He smiled, relishing in the new sensation of her wet fingers.

"But it's not right?" she asked again, her hand coming to a stop. He shrugged, unsure how to correct her.

"It feels amazing..." His hips pushed him through her fist in slow, satiating strokes.

"But?" Her hand loosened in annoyance as her expression turned stern.

"I don't know. Try something less choppy, I guess. More on the end... I don't exactly have a lot of experience here either," he tried to explain, finding it difficult to keep his hands from taking over.

"Okay."

She set her lips back over his head, and this time followed the pump of her hand. Without him in the back of her throat, it was easier to breath, easier to keep a consistent motion. She was relieved not to be retching all over him.

"Yeah, that. Exactly that."

Tobias leaned into her, allowing her full control as he enjoyed each stroke more than the last, until the pressure building up inside of him reached the point of no return. He could hardly get out more than a sputtered warning. "Tris, I'm going to–"

The first pungent taste of him on the back of her tongue gagged her, the second viscous spurt coming as a further surprise. She choked and coughed as she pulled back, covering her mouth to avoid dribbling. His hand immediately covered hers, keeping her moving for the last second of his orgasm. She glared up at him, holding her mouth shut as the fluid now coated her hand. Distressed, Tris wiped carefully at her face, stunned and not certain what to do.

"Sorry?" he panted, attempting to explain. "It just... it was so good."

She pushed past him and out to the bathroom, relieved that her roommate wasn't home. Tobias fell onto the bed, feeling more than a little guilty. He shuddered while he listened to her run the faucet, barely hearing her mutter something about getting it on her pants and in her hair. The total failure of the situation and her unsure and scandalized face peeking out of the doorway brought embarrassed laughter to him first and her second.

"Are you okay?" She nodded in response, stepping back into the room and closing the door. He straightened up and sat on the edge of her bed. "Was it awful?"

"A little more warning would have been nice. It's not like they covered this in Abnegation, you know." She couldn't meet his eyes, but laughed lightly. "It just... happened really fast." She cringed as soon as it was out of her mouth. If she'd learned anything from Christina, guys were sensitive about their performance.

"I was worked up from the couch and I can go longer, I swear. It's just that it's you. I love that it's you." She smiled, that word creeping through her like a warm blanket on a cold day.

"So it was still good? I did okay?"

"Are you kidding?" he assured, pulling her to sit next to him. She wasn't sure where to put her eyes, but she couldn't keep them from glancing at him, naked, in her room.

"It wasn't bad. Other than the ending, and I think that was more the surprise." She shrugged. "Was I not supposed to like it?"

"I don't know. I know some girls hate it and some guys say they get it all the time, so…"

"Does it always..." She shook the thought out of her head.

"What?" He egged her on, playfully pulling on her arm, trying to loosen her up.

She flushed scarlet. "Does it always... taste like that?"

"Oh. Umm... I don't know. I've never. Probably." He squinted his eyes and grimaced.

"It's not horrible, that's not what I meant. It's not candy or anything, but it's… What do I taste like?"

Tobias felt an immediate rush and the heated feeling of a blush. "Well, I umm… You know, it's hard to describe. I think if I had a reminder, I might be able to describe it."

Tris laughed and rolled her eyes. His hand started at her knee, his lips touching lightly against her jaw. "Shouldn't you go and avoid me now? Your fake shift starts in thirty minutes."

Sometimes she was too observant. He hated that that was how she felt when he would push her out at the end of the day.

"I don't avoid you. I mean I do have some side work I could do, but it's not mandated." Telling her that didn't make her feel better, but he knew what would. He silently made the words with his tongue to see if he could even form the phrase on command. His brain convinced him that they even carried a bad taste, but he couldn't let the rejection stay written all over her face. "I will try. I'll… I'll stay tonight. I'll sleep here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're right. Couples do this. We should do this." She kissed him, and the minty afterthoughts of her toothpaste helped him settle into his decision.

She let him pull her in with his arm around her shoulders, his lips connecting with her temple and traveling lower. He liked the way she always flexed her back when he tugged her earlobe between his lips.

Tobias closed the gap between them, twisting to give her all his attention. He ran his hand down her back to her waist, playing with the band of her pants. His eyebrow quirked up in question, determined to finally get them off of her. "Can I? Nothing is better than making you feel good."

He continued to kiss her behind her ear, his hand running up under her shirt along her spine. She slid up the bed, letting him pull her shirt up and kiss her stomach. He kissed down over her panties, his hands firm and massaging while sliding her out of her clothes.

* * *

Tris was certain that she heard the door to her room open and then quickly shut, but that could have been hours before, or maybe just minutes. In either case, it's what she blamed for being awake long before alarms. Tris eyed Tobias while he slept on his stomach; the transformation from serious soldier into a relaxed, youthful teen still surprised her. Examining his body under the lifted sheet, Tris let her eyes linger on the indentations between his ribs and the cut of his muscles under his skin. The thinness obviously bothered him, but he wasn't unhealthy and it didn't distract her from enjoying the view.

Tobias's ribs rose in a deep breath, his body stretching in the first stages of waking. The risk of getting caught snapped her out of her fixation. He opened one eye, saw her sitting next to him, and gave a smile before yawning and rolling onto his back. His hand found her thigh, rubbing it without coordination. A glance at the pill bottle sitting on top of her night stand, and not in it, told her he had snuck a pill from her bottle. She was on a smaller dose, but it was enough to make him feel less conflicted and dull his response.

Tris looked at the clock. She had two days of practice left to get a passing range score, and one to make it through the landscape. The least of her concerns was making it up the wall, which she'd done a few times before. And her final landscape shouldn't be more than just an exercise in control. Just three obstacles stood between her and all her goals.

Now, when everything was back to where it needed to be with Tobias, she faced the possibility of losing it all over again. He understood her. He wanted her. He might even love her, or at least he could in the long run. She doubted her chances at ever finding anyone else who it would feel so natural to be around. She wasn't about to let a moment's fear get in the way of experiencing all that there was to experience with him while she still could.

Tris pushed herself up and slid her leg over him, straddling him and kissing him. The sloppy slide of his lips on hers took a moment to become coordinated and focused. His hands found her face, then traced down the sides of her body to rest on the curve of her butt. He felt the slight touch of her against his erection, then full contact as she slid against him with every slight roll of her hips. He moaned in disbelief, and thought for a moment that he was again shuffling between a lucid dream and reality.

His lips moved faster against hers as he pressed up off the mattress, chasing her lips as she sat up straighter, her hands on his stomach. Tobias leaned on one elbow, his other hand guiding her hip as she pulled slick strokes along the top of his cock; each time she touched his tip, his thoughts were diluted by an instinctual need. The little voice in the back of his head started to plead with him to stop her and convince her to go down on him again.

She surprised him, surprised herself, when she slid further forward and tilted her pelvis just right so he slipped inside her. In one smooth motion, she sank down a few inches and paused in partial shock. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her chest down against him, pushing his lips against hers.

His head swam in the cloud of want that drowned out all other thoughts. He couldn't process anything. Not the pained squint of her eyes, or the press of nails on his stomach, least of all the repercussions of being bare inside her. All he felt was warmth, wetness, and a tightness on his tip that he needed all the way to his base. Everything that made him feel — in the moment — like it was exactly what he was put on Earth to feel.

He no longer had patience enough not to arch up into her, to make her move over him. She let out a whimper-tinged moan that brought him to open his eyes and loosen his arms. She gave him an assuring kiss before settling all the way down with a slow exhale and a smile.

His guttural sighs mixed with hers, getting louder and faster between heavy breaths. Nothing had ever felt so right, so natural, and in a split second so close to disaster. He pulled her forward, forcing his own hips down and squeezed her with a gasp.

"Condom, Tris," he panted, hating himself for interrupting.

"It's okay. Keep going," she whispered, pushing against his arms and trying to slide him back inside.

"No, I'm too close. Get a condom, or we have to stop," he insisted, pushing her off of him.

She shuffled towards her dresser, grabbing two condoms that were attached to each other from back behind her socks. She returned with an expression like a guilty kid caught with sweets. He took a pouch, opened it, extracted the rubber and slid it on as quickly as he could.

Tobias greedily kissed her, encouraging her back on top of him, instantly regretting the dulled sensation. She found a rhythm, grinding away towards her own release as he busied his hands with her breasts and her nipples, trying to coax himself to reach his climax with her. But she came first, slumping over him and leaning on her palms on his stomach, all motion stopping.

He sat up, hugging her and kissing her neck, urging her to move. While she returned his touches, her hips stayed motionless. Lifting her had never been easier or more necessary as he tilted her over onto her back and slid on top of her, not thinking about any other option as he accelerated his thrusts until he couldn't help but reach release.

Tris was clinging to his shoulders, her lips pressed against his collarbone, reveling in the extension of her orgasm and the way she felt needed in the urgency of his motions. She finally understood why everyone was so focused on sex. The instant contentment, satisfaction, the bond she couldn't help but feel between them. She understood it all.

It took him a minute or two to get his heartbeat back down, the steady pulse in his neck against her ear counting down her own euphoric moment. His hands were rough on her back, resting loosely where he had gripped her and held her to him. She should have felt sticky and gross for all the sweat that rubbed off between them, but she actually enjoyed the warmth and the compression of his body on hers.

Tobias slid back out of her but stayed frozen in fear between her legs. He was reluctant to look at her, to see the squinted eyes and the panic that he knew came with being smothered beneath him. But the shimmy of her legs on his sides and the soothing stroke of her hands pressing down the muscles of his back alleviated his hesitation.

"What the hell was that?" He kissed the side of her neck, sitting up on his elbows to search her face, the sternness catching her off guard.

"I don't know, I just wanted to," she squeaked, shrugging. A lump formed in her stomach. "I mean, it was okay, right? Or... it wasn't... was it? I'll—"

"Tris, it was great. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was fantastic. I should have said that first. It was really good. It's just... we can't be that reckless. I'm not getting you pregnant."

"You won't." She squirmed a little under his scrutiny.

"Seriously, it's not a joke. I know at least five guys with kids from doing stupid shit like that."

"I'm telling you, it's okay—"

"It's not," he cut her off, his agitation rising. "The last thing either one of us needs is a kid screwing things up even more."

"I know." She put her hand on his lips to silence his next retort. "I can't get pregnant." She started to wish they weren't face to face; there was no place left to look but straight at him.

"Can't?" he mumbled against her hand, one eyebrow arching up.

"Can't."

"Because of getting shot?" His hand slid down to her stomach, over her scar as he rolled off of her and onto his side.

"No," she laughed, swatting his hand. "I have this implant in my arm. It's next to impossible."

"So, um, condom optional?" he blurted, skeptical and more than a little caught off guard by how excited he was by the idea. It reminded him of the sagging sack sliding off his penis. He pulled off the condom and wrapped it in a tissue. The contrast between with and without wasn't far from his mind.

"Unless, you know, your test results aren't accurate anymore." She swallowed hard at the implications.

"I'm good. Up to date." He paused. "You said next to impossible. So it is possible?"

"Well, like one in a thousand. But that's way smaller a chance than just condoms," she admitted.

He thought for a moment, evaluating the odds against the pleasure. The argument went back and forth, comparing the physically greedy need to the risk of living out his landscape.

"What are you thinking about?" Tris asked. She scrambled to read his features, but was coming up with nothing. "My test results were fine, if that's what you're worried about. I mean, like, I'm healthy. And I haven't been with anyone since… him, I swear."

"No, nothing like that..." He waved her concerns off with a flick of his hand, settling back down next to her. "Having a kid scares me." He relaxed, sharing the pillow with her, his fingertips idly running up and down her stomach.

"Not top of my list either, right now," she chuckled, easing in against him, nearly giddy that he was being open with her.

"Ever," he adjusted. "I can't ever. You can make your own choices about me, but a kid?"

"We'll cross that bridge if we get to it." Tris tested the waters, thinking that if he tensed, she'd know he still didn't think of her as anything more than a warm body. But he tightened his arm around her instead, and she snuggled closer to him feeling foolish for doubting. He pulled her head onto his chest, latching his arms around her.

"I don't think you quite get it. It's in my landscape: killing you… and him."

"Oh. But, you haven't, though. You've never purposely hurt me. And… _he_? He doesn't even exist."

"Yeah, well, I've never forced you either, but…"

"Here we are. Both of us, despite the sims. And it's good, right?" Four sighed but gave her a slight nod. "So, we're having a boy! How exciting," she teased. He rolled his eyes and huffed. He made the mistake of letting his mind work and when he recalled the image, he knew the brown boy in his sim wasn't Tris's. He felt sick and undeserving.

Tobias ran his fingers over the back of her hand, distracting himself with the softness. She was watching his fingers and resisting the urge to pull away from the slight tickle. His fingers closed around her wrist, measuring how small it was.

"So… Did you like it?"

Tris considered teasing him again, but didn't want to push him. "Yeah, I liked it. It didn't feel quite as good as other things you do to me, but I liked it. Maybe it'll get better the more we do it?"

"I think practice is very important, here. You know, we could focus on it every day, maybe a couple times a day?" He added overly-animated head nodding, and got her to laugh and smack him.

She took in a deep breath and sighed out her concerns.

"So, why now? This was a pretty sudden switch." He intensified his touch by using his full palm to slide down her side, to feel the shape of her hip bone and pull her hips closer to him, eager to initiate a second round. He was relieved they had finally crossed the line, that she had pushed past it without further trauma, and that it was time to explore new territory. He planned to take full advantage of having a willing girl naked in his bed, but Tris wasn't quite on the same page.

She was instantly on the edge of crying, shrugging instead of responding, the overwhelming helplessness overtaking her. He understood her motives as soon as she looked up at him.

"You're gonna pass. It's going to be fine," he stated, soothing her.

"I go tomorrow. It's all over tomorrow."

"No, you do your landscape tomorrow, and then you do drills the next day, but it's not over. You'll move back here next week and you'll get the bracelet off. You'll find a position, make more friends. We can see each other every day. It's just beginning." He smeared her tears off her face with his thumbs.

It took a few minutes of him being embarrassingly turned on while she cried and clung tight to him, but he was able to talk her down and then distract her with patient massaging hands and his ever-encouraging lips. She sniffled for a bit, but his affections paid off. She let him get her close, then pushed him off, sliding her leg back over him. From her vantage point, it was easy to pretend she was more powerful than him. She liked feeling selfish and in control, taking what she wanted, knowing he would enjoy it.

It was his turn for his fears to trump his wants; the image of his imaginary son was seated firmly in the back of his mind. He pushed her hips to hold her off of him. "Maybe, do you think we can keep using the condoms. I can't… I don't know enough about this stuff, okay? I just need some time to think through it."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. We can." She smiled, grabbing the other pouch off the mattress.

* * *

**If you read this and you don't comment, after 40 fucking chapters of slogging these traumatized kids to this point, I'm going to be greatly disappointed. I'm posting this in August of 2016, if you're reading this in even 2020, 2025, 3991... put a comment in that box. Also, click profile, read "Let me get a Pikachu!"**

**I've worked for two years on this story and I continue mainly because you keep paying me in reviews. So make it rain, y'all! :)**


	42. CH42: Anything that can, will

**Thanks everyone for your patience in the "long" wait for this chapter. The wait for the next one shouldn't be nearly as long. Thanks to BK2U for all the heavy lifting and Milner for continued alpha reading support.**

* * *

Tris stumbled out of the landscape room, shaken and panting; the fresh wind from an open door instantly chilled the sweat on her back. The leadership turned to each other in discussion, nodding their heads while she loitered, before moving on to unrelated topics.

Four waited for their looks to be accusatory. For them to arrest him, question him, hold him accountable as a rapist and an abuser. But only Harrison even acknowledged his presence by squeezing his shoulder and nodding when he passed. Tris grabbed his hand and pulled his attention back to her, leading him down the hallway. Shame ran through his thoughts; he shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid touching her.

He knew it was a bad idea for him to go, but she'd asked him to. He couldn't bring himself to say no when she was naked and warm tucked against his side.

They shuffled into the elevator in silence. He was too afraid to look at her, to see the fear on her face. His focus was so intent on anything but her that he even noted a corner tile was chipped on one side. The sudden rush of Tris's body moving through his gaze along with the elevator car stopping snapped him to attention.

The emergency stop button was under her thumb; her determined look made him uneasy. She was preparing to pick a fight. He sucked one long breath in and held it. She was done with him. She was done being scared of her partner, done being a continual victim.

"Stop it. Stop it right now," she commanded.

"What?" He looked away — glancing at the walls, the floor — letting the breath out before taking and holding another.

"It wasn't you."

"Wasn't it? Over and over? Every six weeks from now until you die?" He swallowed hard and kicked his heel against the wall.

"No. It wasn't you, not today. It still happened, but it was just some face, some other face. I sort of recognized it, but I couldn't place it. But I know it wasn't you." Tris smiled as she threaded her fingers between his; his face brightened when she lifted his chin.

He pulled her in, his arms on her lower back. "Really? You're not lying to make me feel better?"

"I didn't even freeze up that bad. I was able to confront it and fight him off." Stretching up on her tiptoes, Tris quickly brushed her lips to his, then restarted their descent.

She evaluated him: unsure posture, reticent and reserved — the closest to a teenager she'd seen while he was awake. "So, I don't have anywhere to be. Do you?" she asked. She put her hands on his chest and leaned against him. His hands slid from her arms down to her hips and locked behind her back. She still liked being held best of anything they did.

"Nope. Got something on your mind?" He kissed her temple.

"Maybe we can fit in some practice?" She pushed away from him when the doors started to open.

"Oh, yeah... of course. What kind? More shooting?" He switched his focus, but he didn't cover his disappointment well.

Tris smirked. She'd have to try again, but the incoming crowds made her balk at being direct. "My arms are still tingly. I don't think shooting more today is gonna do anything other than frustrate me."

"Okay, then what? Up the wall?"

Tris pulled her lip between her teeth and raised an eyebrow. Her blush shifted him from following to dragging her playfully down the hallway, pulling her into a trot. They rounded a corner between the Pit and the dining hall where Zeke and Rafael were chatting; Zeke was still suited up for patrol. Four murmured a curse under his breath, pulling up short.

"Tris! How'd it go? Did you pass?" Zeke shouted, opening his arms and pulling her in for a hug. She clung to Four's fingers, pulling him awkwardly with her.

"Looked like she did. No one said anything otherwise," Four answered for her.

"And, how many?" Zeke glanced at their hands; Four was still slightly tugging Tris towards the housing wing.

Tris shuffled her feet and quietly responded, "Doesn't matter."

"So, not seven?" Zeke asked. Tris bit her lip and pushed Four forward in front of her, hiding a little behind him.

"Like she said, doesn't matter," he commented. He stepped to the side, pulling Tris with him towards the hallway.

"You guys on your way to dinner?" Zeke asked, all grins, stepping with them and getting them to stop.

"Um..." Tris looked at Four for help.

"Sort of..."

It was uncomfortable to look at each other: both were scarlet and flustered.

"Oh! Oooooh! There's no food on that menu," Rafael blurted with an amused laugh.

"Raf," Zeke admonished with a laugh, watching both Four and Tris gape for a response.

Four rolled his head, grimaced, and improvised. "I have a couple of chickens thawed, I was going to cook us dinner. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a little celebration for passing."

Rafael evaluated him with a snicker. "Liar."

"Don't be a jerk," Four warned.

"Go. Have fun. Be safe. Wrap it up." Zeke stepped between Rafael and Four and gently pushed Tris down the corridor, punching Four in the arm lightly as he passed.

"Oh my God." Tris was mortified. Her eyes stayed on her toes while she stiffly walked in front of Four, listening to the catcalls and whistles from Rafael. She circled her arms around her middle.

"Sorry. That Candor thing seems to have rubbed off on him," Four growled, glaring back over his shoulder. He rubbed her back lightly.

They were greatly subdued when they entered his apartment. He slid his shoes off and lined them up next to hers, while she looked at him with reservation, red-faced embarrassment spreading from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck.

Tris glanced at his bed, a place she was so reluctant to leave just a few days prior. "Should we... just get to it?"

"God, it's weird now, isn't it?" He crinkled his nose.

"Yeah, a little bit. They're having dinner thinking about us..."

"Ugh, I hope not," he sighed, stepping away to his refrigerator. "I wasn't lying, not completely. I do have chicken. Maybe we should start with dinner. You want something to drink?"

"Like memory serum?" she deadpanned, taking a seat at the table.

"I have some of Bud's special brew. Enough of that and you won't have to worry about brain cells."

He smiled as he pulled the bottle down and set it on the table, staring intently at the shadow it cast on the surface. It was nice to have something to look at besides her.

"It's just so... they know. And that's creepy." She pulled her feet up onto the seat of her chair and hugged her face to her knees.

"They assume, Tris. You've stayed the night, everyone is already assuming. It's not a big deal, not to them. I promise. They're just being jerks because... well, you know, I haven't even been an asshole to them lately." Tris laughed with him and relaxed.

Like the last time, he was careful to cut the chicken before he cooked it. The pan sizzled in the background.

"Do you want to tell me about your landscape?"

Tris glanced at him. "It wasn't you. What more do you need to know?"

"I'm just saying, if you want to talk about any of it, that one or others or whatever, I'm all ears. I don't want you to think you can't talk to me about it because of what happened."

"You want to tell me about yours?" she challenged.

He met her eyes with a smirk. "I don't mind sharing with you. Well, I don't have to confront Marcus anymore, and I don't just watch you die."

"That's an improvement." She smiled. He didn't.

"I kill you instead. Or, more specifically, I am Marcus. I'm trapped inside of his body and I can't stop it from killing you. I haven't been able to manipulate it yet. All I can do is watch and try to control my response. If I get my breathing steady and my heart rate down, I don't always have to watch it all," he calmly stated, his shameful expression shifting to sadness.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he continued, "And I have a new one. I'm at the front of a line handing out food: tins of soup and fresh apples and bread, all sitting on a table beside me. Candor, Dauntless, everyone is lined up for food. They're all thin but not sick, until they eat the food. I have been able to pull, like, a medicine out of my pockets to make them well again, but not enough to get to everyone. Amar thinks that one's about fearing being a leader, or something. The other ones are the same... heights, confined spaces. Still four. Can't ever get away from four."

"I think you would be a good leader. You wouldn't be a liar just pretending to be a decent person like your father. You'd actually be a really great one."

Tobias shrugged and turned to plate the food. He hated lying to her or letting her believe he was somehow a good person. He set a plate of chicken with a much larger pile of green beans in front of her. He split a lukewarm potato and slid half from his plate to hers. The last time he cooked for her, he did everything to keep his right hand out of view. This time, he let it fall on the table until he noticed her staring at it.

Tris smiled apologetically and observed her plate. "Abnegation style."

"Yeah. I can cook other things, but this seemed safe on short notice." He shrugged. "Why? You want something different?"

"No, no. It's fine." She speared a piece of chicken and chewed to prove it.

"You know, I never asked... what is your favorite food? I could have made that for you."

"Banana bread."

"Really? Not cake? All the transfers say cake."

"Well, the cake is good. And maybe it does taste better, I don't know. I haven't had banana bread since I was really small. But my mom used to make it for the factionless. Smelling it makes me think of her, and that's a whole lot better than cake."

He squeezed her fingers when his hand found hers under the table. "I'll remember that. You know, birthdays are a good excuse for just about everything. I'll see if Shauna can help me make some for you."

"But my birthday's over."

"Yeah, but you have 16 years to make up for. We can make it a birthday week-and-a-half, or a month. I mean, I got to do something for you, but the Dauntless like to go out and have a little fun with friends. It's fun for everyone. Usually good food, maybe some pranks, a gift or two. It's really nice."

"Oh? Tell me more about these pranks."

"Well, we used to stink bomb factionless camps — not very nice of us. And then we did stuff around the compound: dye in the showerheads, powder in the hand dryers, that sort of stuff. Some things we did to each other, like Zeke tried to ruin my dinner my second year here. He put this sauce on my burger, told me it was ketchup."

"Tried? So you figured it out first? It was some sort of chemical or something?"

"Naw, I had no clue. I trusted him too much, he hadn't targeted me yet. But it backfired when I liked it. I thought it was great, but I guess it's not for everyone — too spicy. Turns Zeke into a blubbering idiot. He sweats and almost cries because it's so hot."

"I like spices." She shrugged.

"I don't think you understand. It wasn't spices, it was spicy."

"Hey, I snuck a thing or two from the school cafeteria. I've had spicy before," Tris countered.

"Okay, you deviant. Hold on. I don't have any sauce, but I have something similar." He stood with a smirk, crossed to his cabinet and pulled out a little shaker. "Here. Just a little, it's really hot. But maybe you'll like it. I love this stuff."

Tris was bent under the faucet, feet kicked off the floor, thirty seconds after insisting she wasn't scared of a little bit of pepper. While Tobias snickered and indulged in a lingering glance at her butt from the table, a loud banging on the door was succeeded by the sound of pounding feet fleeing the scene.

He glanced through the peephole before opening it and found streamers, a handwritten Do Not Disturb sign, and a ribbon of condoms taped to the doorknob.

"No big deal, huh?" Tris patted the water off her still-flushed face.

"What can I say, my friends are assholes."

He stripped the decorations and threw them just inside the door. He started counting in his head, timing each breath with either a motion of his arms or legs as he paced out into the hallway and back inside, resisting the urge to chase them down.

"It's okay. They're just being them." She took his hand, pulled him out of the way and shut the door.

"Yeah, because this hasn't been complicated enough."

"Just relax. For once we're not mad at each other. You can pummel them later, or we can try to plan out our own revenge." Tris picked up the ribbon of condoms that had landed on her bag. "At least we won't run out."

Tobias took the packets out of her hand and threw them on the table with one last exhale. "Still, I'm sorry."

"Well, you're gonna have to make it up to me." Tris's eyebrows hitched up. He didn't move. His eyes flicked back to the table and the ribbon of condoms between their half-finished plates.

He used her hips to push her back. His fingers traced down her jaw, tilting her head. His breath and her breath mingled briefly before their lips touched and Tris forgot about their friends. She forgot about everything except the feeling of his skin under her palms and the exhilaration of her feet leaving the ground. His hand closed on the condoms and he carried her to bed.

A blissful sleepiness soothed her as much as the rhythm of his chest under her head. They were sticky and salty, stuck together as the dark of night set in. He had a pattern, and she was getting wise to its progression: the lazy rubbing of her back to rouse her, the gentle push of a massage to wake her, and the persistent sinking of his hands lower and lower until she was as aroused as him. She didn't have the heart to complain about how sore their repeated couplings made her; she was coming to trust that the growing ache would pale in comparison to where he could take her.

The lingering feeling of satisfaction lived only as long as the darkness outside. The sun rose above the horizon to chase the stars from the corners of the sky, and the compound woke. They both had places to be, but she would be back on the evening train for her final day of testing.

* * *

Tobias set his sacks of food on the table. Together, he and Tris started to put the jars of canned vegetables on the shelves and some of the meat in the freezer for storage. Tobias moved behind her, realigning and re-sorting everything with a huff.

"That's a bit OCD, isn't it?" Tris teased, twisting a jar so the label was at the back and taking the next jar of applesauce.

"I like things to be in order." He took the applesauce back and held it protectively.

"No one keeps a house this clean."

"Sure they do. I keep it like Abnegation."

"Are you saying you aren't OCD? Because this is even weird for Abnegation." She slid the pepper grinder on the counter, the equidistant positioning ruined.

He took in a breath. "Tris..." He looked at her, ashamed, and pushed the grinder back.

"Talk to me about it." She could tell he was debating. "Okay, tell me why you don't want to talk to me about it." But he stared back at her, contemplating options or starting points or something other than just telling her. "I won't think less of you. I would never think less of you."

"Marcus liked a clean house. It's how I was raised," he dismissed quickly.

"You had papers, books, computer parts all over your apartment last year. It wasn't nearly this tidy before the war or even a couple months ago. You had gun parts all over the table."

"Melissa says it's a control thing. She says I control my environment so that I feel more in control of my life. It's not OCD. It's really mild if it is. I'm just anxious about things and this is how I deal."

"Well, does it help you feel more in control?"

"Sometimes. Other times it drives me crazy."

"I'm really sorry that you're dealing with this. You know, I thought you were cleaning up for another girl before we went to Amity." She handed him the next jar.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Tris... there wasn't anyone else."

"I know that now."

They resumed stocking his shelves, only he did all the placing. He kept his hands busy and his eyes on the jars and never glanced up at her while he worked through the embarrassment.

"What's got you feeling anxious?"

"A lot of things."

"Come on, what? More talking less avoiding." She sighed.

"Well, um... you, today, for starters."

"Oh, right. Well, tomorrow will be a different day."

"Yes, a very different day." Four smiled. It was exactly the thought he needed to shrug off his shortcomings.

"So, you got a couch?" Tobias had gotten it from one of the Pedrads. Zeke had already regaled him with all the potential sex positions now at his disposal. It was hard not to think about that when Tris sat on the back of it. "Why not turn it the other way so that the back is against the wall? You like the look of bricks?"

He could feel his face heating up again, turning a shade of scarlet. Zeke insisted that being bent over the back of the couch was a favorite of Shauna's. A driving pulse started things in motion, things they didn't have time for. "Maybe I'll show you after I get off shift. But we're going to be late for your drills if I show you now."

"Right, drills."

"You're going to do great. You just keep your elbow in and mind your breathing and you'll get every shot on the target. Okay?" He wrapped her up and held her tightly. She squeezed him back, her hands working their way up under his shirt to the small of his back. His tight embrace held her up when a wave of nerves threatened to buckle her knees. She took in a deep breath filled with his scent. She would be brave. She would be fierce. She would be Dauntless so she could always be there with him.

* * *

It aggravated Four that he had to sit up in the control room while she did her final drills, but Harrison was impossible to reason with and quick to pull rank. He reminded Four of his position almost at the bottom of the hierarchy. He even threatened insubordination, the punishment being a week at the fence if he didn't comply. The harshness of the approach didn't help Four's mood.

A sudden backlog of Candor cases and a list of maintenance activities that had somehow been missed over the last week filled Harrison's list of expectations for the day. Four thought it might even take him three to deal with everything, limiting his ability to keep one eye on the training room. Harrison may have thought he was doing him a favor by distracting him and redirecting him; it wasn't like watching her or even being in the training room was going to do her much good. It might have made her more nervous.

Four tried to focus on his tasks, glancing at the little dot that represented her between each action in his workflow. The little light traversed the area around the firing range for almost an hour — it normally didn't take more than fifteen minutes to do an assessment. So either Tris was chatting with someone, or it was going very badly. He started to enter the live camera feeds when her dot finally shifted to the climbing wall; if she hadn't passed, she wouldn't have moved on to the wall. He relaxed and took a call from the Candor judicial office, his attention back to the records in front of him.

He got caught up in the surveillance footage of an all-out brawl between two groups in the southwest factionless sector. He attempted to give the play-by-play of who started what by using facial identification software, adding labels for each twist the mob made in the frames; he then did the same for the resulting response by the Dauntless patrol. Facial recognition took a lot more time than notating by hand, but there were too many people to be accurate and fast.

It was nerve-wracking when he saw George and his team engage. He had to remind himself that the brawl had occurred six days prior and it had ended without injury. All in all, watching rubber bullets and stun darts fly was as good a distraction as any. When he set the phone down and glanced back at the dots, Tris wasn't in the training room.

Four launched forward from his relaxed sprawl, tapping away at the prompts to locate her transponder; it flashed in the medical center. People went to the medical center for all sorts of reasons, from injuries to general conversation, or to raid Janice's stash of suckers for a sugar fix.

He tried to stay calm while he quickly skimmed the playback of the cameras focused on the wall. He found her about thirty minutes previously; as she started up the wall he made note of the time. She moved quickly, until there was a noticeable falter in her left arm and hand grips, but she made it to the top and his haphazard calculation confirmed she was inside the limit. He eased back in his chair with a relieved sigh. The playback continued: as Tris carefully lowered herself using the handholds into position to belay, she slipped off the wall, jerked to a stiff halt at the limit of her rope, and slammed left side first into the wall. She looked limp for a moment, then contorted into a ball as they lowered her down.

Four's heart was pounding. He again noted the time stamps and tried to find her on her way through the different camera angles to the medical center. As he skimmed, he glanced between the footage and her little flashing dot which moved from the compound, out to the street, and vanished.

Harrison had clearly stated that he couldn't leave in the middle of his shift, and the explicit threat to send him back out to circle the city was enough to hold him to his post. He made a few phone calls, trying to get answers at the medical center or to get someone from maintenance to come up and cover. Amar finally came through the door, his face grim and his posture defeated.

"What the hell happened?" Four nearly shouted.

"She tweaked something in her shoulder. She's on her way to Erudite right now to see a doctor. It's just a precaution."

"Okay, so it's not as bad as it looked? And she made it to the top with time to spare, so she made it. Right?" He couldn't help but grin like an idiot.

"Her file goes to the leadership for consideration. Her loyalty test was barely acceptable, her shooting wasn't great, and she just hurt her arm climbing up an indoor wall with a harness and ropes. You couple that with the fact that she wants to continue working outside the faction and... I don't know, Four."

"Amar, if she passed, she passed. Rules aren't set just to let the leadership bend them however they want."

"They've been turning a blind eye to you two ever since you finished re-initiation, and they've been giving Rafael a pass, so I'm not going to use that argument and overturn the apple cart on Lauren. Just be ready. I don't know what they'll make of it, but I've written my notes up to present the most solid case. I just want you to be prepared and know that I'm gonna pull out all the tricks I've got for her. Harry owes me a couple favors and I have a couple things on Scout; if I have to blackmail her, I will."

Four nodded, but didn't feel it was a gesture good enough to convey his acknowledgment of what Amar had been doing. He added, "Yeah, well, there's no one better to have on our side." They exchanged a small smile.

"I'll handle Harrison and I'll get someone up here to cover. You should be able to make the next train," Amar offered.

* * *

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	43. Ch 43: As long as you want it, too

**BK2U and Milner, the ever steady edit-ready friends of mine worked through these chapters a few times since two chapters were split into three. So thanks, as always.**

* * *

Tobias hadn't been back to Erudite since they left it in shambles. The walk was surreal, verging on an out-of-body experience. The hallways into the hospital sector lacked any signs of the conflict; he second-guessed his memory of coming through that specific wing. Doctors and nurses passed through the halls, crisscrossing at intersections. The antiseptic smell of the cleaning crew churned his stomach. Tobias followed the scant signs to a receptionist, hopeful that he could direct him further to Tris.

"I'm here to see Tris Prior, maybe Beatrice," Tobias stated loudly, dragging the receptionist's attention away from an open book. He glanced at him, sighed, then slowly tapped into the computer system. His eyes jittered across the screen before he tapped in a few more commands.

"Name?"

"Um, Tobias Eaton," he said, quieter than before.

"Relation?"

"Boyfriend?" He hesitated, still not used to saying the word out loud.

"Family only, sorry." His apathy threatened Four's control as he turned back to the book.

"Listen, I don't care how you run things here in Erudite, but in Dauntless, we are family. So give me the damned room number."

His tone caught the man's attention, and he froze, shocked. Four's balled fists uncoiled and he snapped the screen up and onto the counter, sending a cup of pens scattering across the floor. He found the number in a long five seconds and left the screen teetering, chirping a sarcastic 'thank you' over his shoulder.

'As a precaution' was an understatement. Tobias was surprised to find Tris writhing on the bed, breathing rhythmical, deep breaths to fight off the surge of pain. Two nurses finished wrapping her shoulder with a board across her back and bandages pulling her whole arm tight against her torso. Her eyes were swollen from crying, but her cheeks were dry—that damage must have come from earlier. She couldn't hold it in when she saw him in the doorway. Tobias crossed the room, squeezing her foot through her shoe until they left them alone.

"So, what's the damage?"

He moved up her right side, keeping his hand on her leg the whole way. He massaged her clenched fist and pressed his fingers between hers: her hand was clammy, cold, and shook with a residual tremor from the pain. She jerked back, but he wouldn't let her shake him off. If it weren't for her resistance, he would have kissed her back into the pillows.

"Well, I didn't finish drills. I'm so sorry." She sucked in a breath to avoid crying more.

"Tris, you did. You finished. You're in."

"They don't see it like that. Scout came with me. She said it was good I had a place outside Dauntless."

"Don't worry about that right now. Amar's already prepared your file. You'll get credit. The leadership might even be meeting right now. There's no way they can deny that you made it in." She was shaking her head, dismissing the thought. He squeezed her fingers and insisted, "It's fine, everything is good."

"It's not. You'll see. There's no reason to drag this out." He clutched her hand tighter as she tried again to shake him. "Tobias, you're in. I'm out. The rules... I screwed everything up again. There's no reason for you to get in trouble over this."

"You haven't screwed anything up. You're hurt, but it's going to be okay. Just pause for a second and wait on the leadership. Okay?"

Christina was in the doorway. She cleared her throat before addressing them quietly. "Hey, Tris. I've got your papers. Are you ready?"

"For what?" Tobias interjected, annoyed at the disruption.

"To go home. Christina will get my things to me. It's just what I had in my locker." Tris swung her legs off the bed opposite of him and slid onto her feet, jerking her hand out of his as she moved.

When Tobias tried to come around and help her, Christina got in his way, freeing Tris to exit into the hall. She turned to him with a suggestion and a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"She's just in shock is all. She was really upset. Then they gave her some drugs... they shouldn't have — she didn't want it — but they did. And now she's not thinking, just reacting. She's been focused on how afraid she is of going through withdrawal again, and that she's going to have to be on the protocol longer. And she's just not in a good head space." Christina took a moment to glance out the door; she'd assumed Tris would wait for her, but she wasn't in the hallway. "Look, I'll talk to her tonight. I'm going to stay with her. Just... give her a little time to stop freaking out. Come to her place tomorrow, she should be ready to talk about it then." Christina shifted one foot then another towards the hallway.

"Christina, I should be with her." Tobias started forward, but Christina's hand pushed him back.

"I don't know if that's going to help or just make her cry more. She's overreacting about everything, including what this might mean for you two. Give her tonight to come off the drugs and I'll help her think things through. I'm not going to let things repeat, okay?" Christina assured.

"Okay. But if she starts talking about how I'm not there, you make sure she knows it wasn't my idea. Nothing's changed between us."

"I had to hold you off at knifepoint." Christina crossed her heart and stepped out to track Tris down.

* * *

Tris stopped taking her prescriptions at the start of the summer. Christina thumbed through the discharge papers looking for the exact name of the errant dose Tris received, and tried to recall the names from before. Tris sniffled, hiccuped, and nearly hyperventilated the entire way home. She looked down at her feet, and the few times she did catch Christina's eye, like in the elevator, she heaved in and sobbed. For a mood stabilizer — whatever it was — it wasn't very effective.

Christina had to rock back on her heels to avoid getting pushed over when Tris barreled past her and into the apartment. Tris was still close to hyperventilating as she wandered into the kitchen, turned and moved to the living room, and then paced to her room and back to the chair. Christina took precautions and crossed to the kitchen, putting the table between them to avoid an accidental collision. Tris sank down on the edge of the seat and began breathing exercises to calm herself. Christina started the kettle and pulled out two mugs. She put a packet of tea in each cup and then evaluated the situation.

Tris looked lost in her own home, in her own head. The medication they'd pumped into her at the hospital had lowered her reactions and stymied her emotional processing. She watched Tris transition into a subdued, passive state. She was still quietly crying when the tea finished steeping and Caleb came through the door.

"What happened?" He surged towards Tris; Christina stopped him.

"She reinjured her shoulder."

"I failed out of Dauntless." Tris sniffled.

"Okay… well, uh...?" He looked to Christina for some help.

"They gave her a mood suppressant — Carton. Does five milliliters seem like a lot? Because if it is, it's not really doing its job."

"Carton? Let me check my notebook." Caleb disappeared into his bedroom and returned with his folder full of papers relating to Tris. He pulled out the notebook and set the loose papers aside. He flipped to the dog-eared page of prescriptions. "Um… before, she was on two milligrams a day of Carton A. Did they give her Carton A or Carton L?"

It was Christina's turn to flip pages. "Carton L."

"Right. So, that's a front-loaded version with an immediate dose and then it dissipates. But it's not as strong overall. It's what they gave her the first time, after the chasm: it's like a sedative for the mind. It's supposed to go to a daily dose afterwards to keep the patient stable. It's a major component in the mental health triage kit. If I remember, five mils would be at full strength for at least six hours, maybe only four, and then dissipate. Since they did daily doses after that, I don't know how long. Did they give her Carton A to start taking again?"

"No, just the one dose of Carton L. But, I guess maybe that makes sense. She was fine-ish when I got there, but the nurses told me she was inconsolable when she first got there. Then after Four came by, she just... lost it. It's only now that she's calmed back down."

"Well, was Cameron there?"

"Not that I saw. I don't see it in the notes. It does say they called in a message to Candor, though."

"Hmm… Cameron would be the one to put her on anything long term. And remember, the Carton A she was taking with Atlatem for depression. All the withdrawal happened when we stopped both of them, but I don't know if Carton L on its own is gonna be the same issue. And only one dose, I don't know… I guess I'll just say I don't know and I'll try to find out tomorrow."

"It has a five day half life." Tris looked worn and sleepy. She looked unable to focus.

"What does that mean?" Christina turned to Caleb for help.

"Well, Carton A has a five day, Carton L might be different. It means in five days she'll still have half of the effective ingredients in her body, and in ten days she'll have a quarter, and then fifteen an eighth. And so on. It's why it took so long, even after we weaned her down to the minimum dose."

"Okay, but when does it stop affecting her?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I'll try and find the studies at work tomorrow." Caleb shrugged. "So, what's the plan? What are you thinking?"

"I haven't really thought much. I guess for tonight, I'm just gonna stay and make sure she doesn't hurt herself while she calms down."

"I am calm!" Tris shouted, startling herself with the volume.

Christina cringed and checked her watch. She lowered her voice, not wanting to upset Tris. "I have patrol tomorrow, all day. So I guess that means I should go back tonight and coordinate. Maybe send Zeke tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay. Or… I can call in to the Candor therapists and see if she can be there tomorrow. I want her to talk to Cameron."

"That's a great idea. Where's the nearest call box?" Christina knew that was the best path.

"There's one two doors west, inside the door to the right."

"You go or I go?"

"You need a break?" Caleb offered. Christina nodded. "Okay… so, we wait tonight. She sees Candor tomorrow. And then what?" Caleb slowly approached and crouched on the floor next to Tris.

"And then nothing. Everything is over. There's no Dauntless. No Tobias. No friends. No cake. Nothing. Nothing but you. At least I have you." Tris gripped Caleb's hand and smiled.

"I'm here, too." Christina sat next to her and touched her leg. Tris jerked away from both of them.

"Don't touch me." She stomped to her room and slammed the door.

"Well, this is fun," Caleb deadpanned.

"I mean, it shouldn't take weeks like last time, right?" Christina collected the tea cups.

"Oh, God. I'm gonna need a therapist if it does. But seriously, where is Four? He should be here."

"She's too upset. I told him to come tomorrow."

"I mean… Like, isn't this theirs to figure out? If they're together, he should be here."

"Well, if she's out, then I guess they aren't together."

"Well then, you shouldn't be here either," Caleb reminded her.

"This is bullshit." Christina took a few breaths, prepared herself, and turned the doorknob on Tris's front door. The walk to the call box helped her clear some of the tension out of her shoulders. But it also let her focus on her anger—boys complicated everything. If he'd made a plan with Tris, if they knew what they would do if she failed, the entire situation would be different. Tris wouldn't be heartbroken and upset. Christina made the call and had to emphasize there was an immediate risk to a Dauntless member on protocol 104, then explain the Dauntless protocol, then she got a lecture about how code words hid the true meaning of situations and inhibited people's abilities to confront their situations head on. She rested the earpiece on her shoulder until the blabbering stopped. Christina confirmed their ability to accept Tris, and then hung up without a thank you or goodbye.

Caleb was sitting outside Tris's room, his head resting on the door and his eyes closed. He wanted to give her space, but he couldn't risk getting distracted either. He just listened to her occasional sniffles and the creak of springs when she adjusted on her bed. Christina and Caleb shared a nodding hand-off; Christina tapped lightly, waited for a rebuff and entered when none came.

Caleb read through the discharge papers: it wasn't just Carton L in her system. They'd given her pain medications and a nerve numbing agent. He flipped to the small print at the back to try and figure out why she didn't want to be touched, her sudden outburst, the reason for why the Carton L was doing such a shitty job stabilizing her.

Christina held the door knob so the latch was pulled in while she shut the door and then released it slowly so there'd be as little sound as possible. But also to give herself time to bolster her restraint. It wasn't likely that her unfiltered thoughts would be very helpful.

Tris was holding the black jacket she'd gotten from Tobias to her chest. She'd already extracted every other black garment from her closet and drawers and piled them on the floor. She wasn't ready to add the jacket to her donation pile.

"What's going on?" Christina touched the pile with her toe.

"Just cleaning. Letting go. Moving on." Tris stared at nothing, her eyes welling up.

Christina picked up a couple shirts. "Lots of this stuff is still in good shape."

"I don't need it. Not anymore."

"Black is always in season, Tris. Let's just put these together on your dresser, and when you're feeling a little better you can go through them again."

"Yeah, whatever." Tris watched Christina fold each item and stack them on her chest of drawers. She inhaled the leather smell from the collar of the jacket and hugged it close. Christina forced her up and pulled the bedspread back. She helped Tris position herself on her right side, her arm curling under the pillow as Christina pulled the covers aside to lie down facing her.

"How are you feeling? What are you feeling?" Christina opened her assessment.

"I feel nothing and then I feel everything and then nothing again. I don't know what is real or what is just drugs." Tears rolled out and the sniffles settled in without the same vehemence as before.

"I know, I'm sorry. I wish I had been there with you. I could have stopped them from giving you something. But now we'll just have to wait this out and get through the worst of the mood swings. But tomorrow you'll feel a little clearer, and maybe it'll just be a couple days. It was only one dose. And Caleb's going to look it up and see what's ahead of us. I'm going to take you to Candor tomorrow morning. They're going to help you, and Cameron will be there to talk to. Then Caleb will bring you home. And Four's going to come by tomorrow when you've had the whole day to—"

"No! He can't come!" Tris blurted. Her hand shot out from underneath her pillow, her eyes widening as she gripped onto the pillow Christina was using. "We can't be together, not any more. It's against the rules and Four's just going to get in trouble with Harrison. And I'll say something horrible and he's already upset with me. I don't want to ruin this even more."

"Tobias is not upset with you. No one's upset with you." Christina took her hand and held it to her cheek.

"I let him down. I let you down. Amar, Zeke, Ro… everyone! I ruined all his plans. And then I wouldn't talk to him. It was probably the last chance and I blew it. He didn't get a goodbye. I didn't… He's mad. There's no way he's not mad."

"Nope. Not Tobias, not me— not anyone— is upset with you. You did your absolute best. You worked so hard. You finished your drills and Amar is going to get a review. I heard Tobias talking to you about it." Christina did not like the weakened girl that had taken over her friend. She said a quick prayer that, if there was a God, he'd see fit to bolster Tris back to her usual strength. And that it would happen before Four came knocking on the apartment door.

"Review? There's no more reviews. They already made their decision. Scout says I'm out. That's leadership's decision and that's how it works. I don't see what more Amar can do. They're not going to suddenly change their minds."

"Scout is just one leader, there's five. And there's no way she talked to any of them before you left for the hospital. And Amar is pretty much magic when it comes to keeping people in Dauntless. So your shoulder's hurt! You can still shoot, and fight, and run, and all sorts of stuff that Shauna can't. But no one's kicking Shauna out."

Tris let Christina's statement sink in for a moment. "Let's say Amar does convince them. That I'm in after all of this. But… for how long? Right now they need the numbers. But in ten years? Fifteen? How long until they line us up at the chasm and make us choose? And then I'll be on my own."

"No one can predict the future, but I hope that those of us that are in Dauntless now can make the right choices so that Dauntless doesn't turn into that later."

"But if it does…"

"Then you and Tobias will live happily ever after — making babies and rainbows where ever you go."

Tris scoffed, "Four isn't leaving Dauntless."

"You don't know that."

"Not now, not ever. He's never going to live factionless."

"Okay." Christina kissed her hand and let it go, putting a firm face on. "Tris, we need to remember last time you were hurt. Last time you didn't really think things through and you didn't talk things over. So this time, don't make decisions for Tobias. You make a list of options for you, and you ask Tobias what his opinions would be. Just because you never talked about it or he said something a week ago when he was so positive things would end up okay doesn't mean he'd still make that choice now that things have changed."

"You don't know him. Four's not leaving Dauntless, not for me."

"He loves you." Tris scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course he does."

"How can you be so sure? I'm not."

"Well, for starters, most guys aren't going to say it if they don't mean it. This is one of those times that you have to take a guy at his word. It's a huge commitment to cross that line."

Tris's heart sunk, "Yeah… but if he hasn't?"

Christina's eyes widened and her nostrils flared. She paused and took a deep breath; getting angry wasn't going to help Tris. She scrambled for a response when Tris raised an eyebrow. "Well… um… I mean, look at his actions. I don't think a guy like Tobias would spend so much time with a person if he didn't love them. He doesn't just hang out or socialize willy-nilly. He sticks with people he considers family."

"If he loved me, he would go factionless with me. But that was the original condition to trying again and it's never changed. He's never once said differently. Earlier today, he wouldn't even recognize the possibility that I would fail. And now that I have…"

"I… I don't know. I really don't know. I can't speak for what Tobias will or won't do. I just… I'm pretty sure he loves you."

"Well, there's this ancient saying, 'It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,' or something like that. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It doesn't feel better."

"I don't think it means right away. Maybe with time."

"Do you think so?"

"Yeah. I know so."

"How much time?" Christina gave her a small smile and shrugged.

* * *

When Four got back to Dauntless, Amar was waiting in the hallway just inside the door, flipping through some papers and marking in quick motions with a pen. Four perked up as he approached him, then came to a stop when Amar gave him a small shake of his head. A crowd of teens jostling through the hallway got his feet to move the remaining distance to Amar.

"How is she?" Amar asked, pulling him closer to the wall and out of the way of traffic.

"Upset. In pain. They drugged her up with something she didn't want and now she's freaking out. She won't talk to me. It's not good. Not 'just a precaution'." Four leveled an accusing glare for a moment, but cracked his neck and adjusted his tone. "Did you talk to the leadership? Scout had an earful for Tris on the ride over to Erudite."

"Well, they couldn't deny it. It's as clear as your cameras: she made the top in time. But, they're nervous about how the faction is going to react. They even put it to a vote to try and share the blame. Scout kept listing off reasons like she's been training for months, on the 104, barely making it to the top, her shooting was passing but it wasn't great, and now she's pretty badly injured. Still, she's in, three to two. They agreed to give her the opportunity to keep training, to take a job, move back, to do drills, all like normal. And see if she can come back from the injury. To see if she wants to be here for real."

Four sighed in relief. "Bet I can guess which two. But anyway, that's good. She's in, that's all she needs. She'll prove they're wrong about her."

"Well, it wasn't Harrison, just so you know."

"Oh. Okay. Really? He must have owed you some favor."

"I didn't have to even press him. He knows what's right for the faction. He knows what's right for you. And you're blind if you think he doesn't have a soft spot for you."

Four was caught off guard and speechless. Harrison had shown him some favoritism. He let him choose how many shifts he did in maintenance versus the control system. He let him pick his schedule. He supported his ideas for improvements and proposals for projects. But he'd always thought that was more about common sense winning out. He had, yet again, underestimated a relationship central to his life.

"Four, her injury looks bad enough that she'd have been factionless a year ago. It's new territory. There's decades of tradition and opinions to navigate, so don't think for a second this is anything more than a compromise. By no means is she out of the woods. She only has ten weeks until her first set of drills. Do you think she'll be ready?"

"Ten weeks? That's the first run after initiation. That's bullshit! If she has to have surgery... What do they expect her to do? Bathe in healing serum?" Four tempered his reaction with some breathing techniques.

"We can make the case for exceptions and work on an alternative metrics proposal; they don't usually balk at that. We'll figure something out, maybe something to give her more time to heal." Amar let out a breath and shrugged. "What was the plan if she didn't make it in?"

Four dropped his eyes.

"You two did make a plan, right?"

"The plan was for her to get in. And she's in."

"So... you had no plan. Or was the plan to just drop her like a bad habit?" Amar started to get hot.

"I'm not leaving Dauntless." Four avoided his question.

"No wonder she won't talk to you."

"Amar, she's hurting. She's going to come around. Christina's staying with her, she'll get it all sorted out."

Amar thought better than to say what was really on his mind, and chose to change the topic instead. "I know you don't really need anything more distracting, but in slightly bigger news, they're reviewing the requirements for everyone and it's possible that they'll rearrange what jobs can be taken based on capability. So, regardless of anyone's initiation rank — even our ranks — jobs might get shuffled which could open some better opportunities up for Tris, which is good, but for us..."

"What do you mean?" Four's indifferent tone clearly indicated his focus wasn't shifting.

"I only caught a little bit as they were arguing, but the number of injuries within the patrol ranks has really depleted the forces we have on active rotation. The fringe elements coming into the city are causing increasing issues with the factionless. Crime is up, riots are up. No one trusts the wipes to be in their own patrols. It sounds like the able-bodied might all be reassigned to patrol squads, at least part-time — meaning you and me. And the injured, like Tris, might have to take on less physical roles, like running drills and watching cameras."

"She still wants to keep her position. If they take away her choice, she's gonna be even more pissed." He brought it right back to Tris.

"No dice. They aren't going to keep giving her special treatment like that. If she's Dauntless, she's gotta work in Dauntless. But I don't think they can get rid of ranks entirely, and as top-ranked, we should all still have some choices. It would be political suicide not to keep ranks as a factor."

"She's so stubborn."

"Well, with these new discussions, and if she has a hard time controlling her attitude, she could just be assigned. Hell, Harrison might give her your job. She's smart enough to learn the system, you're fit enough to walk the fence. And just because Harrison voted her in doesn't mean he wouldn't be entertained by you two bickering about it."

Four shifted back, eyeing Amar with far more attention than earlier. "You're serious? I could be stuck on patrol? No more computers?"

"I'd dust off your walking boots if I were you. I think it's a definite probability."

"And the fence?" he groaned nervously.

"Yeah, probably the fence, too."

"Well, today just sucks."

"And it gets better! Harrison wants to see you. If you're taking time off for Tris, you got forms to fill out."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna check in with her tomorrow. I'll know more then. I better get back up there and finish my shift." Tobias ignored most of his duties to obsess over the footage, watching her hit the top and fall, over and over.

{}

Her scent lingered on his pillow, bursting fresh and pungent every time he turned over, amplifying his anxiety. He hadn't slept. Her pessimistic outlook grated on him; maybe it was the drugs they gave her, but there was always truth buried underneath anger. Past events begged him to be patient, but practicality meant he also had to be rational and consider the facts of the situation: some part of her wanted to believe that everything ended in the hospital. Some part of her had already walked away. She gave up. She wasn't willing to put in anything more than she already had. Tobias felt woozy climbing the stairs to her apartment, one slow step at a time.

His whole perspective on relationships was incomplete and skewed. If they were still in Abnegation, they'd be muddling through courting on their way to being married; well, if neither of them had been killed in the attack — and if he'd been brave enough to break away from Marcus. Marcus would have never let him wait two years to court and marry. Abnegation aside, the Dauntless rarely settled down before their late twenties. And even then, it wasn't unusual to have open relationships or for couples to split up. Housing in Dauntless might as well have been a game of musical chairs. His factions were opposites, and that was confusing.

His parents weren't a good example, so he couldn't look for any help there. Amar was only slightly older than him, and his relationship with George, while strong, was less than three years old. Janice was probably in her thirties when she settled down. And Hana was a widow that only recently started dating again. Zeke was always riding the line with Shauna, pushing her buttons constantly. And Tris — Tris was already convinced they were over. It didn't help that almost every person he was close to had, at some point, walked away from him: his mother, his father, Amar, Tris. How was he supposed to know if he could really trust her in the long run? But he loved her, and she loved him. Why couldn't it be that simple?

It made it hard to be rational when he had no idea where they would land on the unpredictable scale of longevity. Facing forever was a daunting commitment given how much had changed in just one year. And really, that's what was on the table: varying choices that would last forever. Together forever. Apart forever. Nothing was a sure thing outside of each heavy lift of his boots.

He tapped lightly on the door; part of him hoped she wasn't home and the climb was for nothing. That he could head back to Dauntless, lie about trying, and not deal with it until she was back on his turf. But he heard footsteps too light to belong to Caleb. Tris pulled open the door just wider than her narrow shoulders. The sleeve of her shirt hung empty, her arm bulging underneath, still wrapped against her. Dark shadows and puffy skin around her eyes broadcast her equally sleepless night. He wondered if she had been up seesawing through the same thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned quietly, glancing behind her. Her apartment looked empty.

"Tris, why wouldn't I be here?" The soft upturn of his lips comforted her and brought a mirrored smirk to her lips.

"Because you're mad at me."

"Mad? About what? A little spat in the hospital? That was nothing compared to a couple months ago," he teased, and she lightened. He turned serious again. "Is it okay if I come in to talk? If you're not ready, I can come back later."

Tris opened the door wider and backed away from his reaching hands. She couldn't accept his touch and hold it together. Tobias ignored the pang in his chest; he clenched his hands and followed her into the kitchen. They leaned against the counters across from each other.

"So, what's the diagnosis?" It seemed like a better, less subjective starting point.

She raised an eyebrow with heavy judgment; it seemed obvious to her. "I tore the muscle loose from the implant."

He let his head fall a little to the side in agitation. He took a breath and tried to control his own response. "Well, can they fix it?"

"They're going to try and reattach it without replacing the implant. I have to wait for the inflammation to go down before they can go back in. A few days, maybe a week."

"So it's like the whole muscle came loose?" He couldn't keep from cringing as he imagined a pain a thousand times worse than a pulled muscle.

"They aren't sure, the swelling got in the way of the scan, but enough of it. It's not going to fix itself. So, that's that." She let out a defeated huff.

"Amar talked to the leadership." Tris took in a sharp breath and wiped her hand on her pants. Tobias felt a little better that she looked somewhat hopeful. "They voted you in. You're going to be held to the same standards, though: drills, job, the works."

She deflated. "Right, drills. Even if I get the surgery tomorrow, it's closer to eight weeks before I can start carrying a plate of food, let alone using it in any meaningful way. I might never get on a train again! You know that? I'll never be able to do drills. And if they have to replace the implant—" She let her sentence hang unfinished between them, wiping off the tears.

"Drills are just one week stints. It's not as strenuous as what you've been doing to get ready. And we can get an exception plan like what Shauna has. We can get you on one for a while, forever if you need it. And we can keep training every day so that the rest of your body is in good shape when your arm starts coming around," he offered. She chuckled and snorted, exasperation smearing her tired face. "What?"

"So I can just tear it again and again? Implant after implant. Year after year. And for what? To finally get you to love me? What's it going to take? One more time, three more times?"

Anger flamed through him. "Tris, I do love you. What makes you think I don't?" he shouted in challenge.

She hesitated. Hearing those words should have lifted her soul with joy, but he shouted them in a tone that made them a weapon. They were out on display as a tool, a method to break her and distract her.

She kept her voice soft, even if all she felt was a sudden, deep rage. "Maybe because you've only ever said it on accident and now, when it suits you. If you loved me, if you were in love with me, you'd offer some options where you have to sacrifice, too. Something more than words. I try. I fight. I screw up. And here I am, trying again. And we're still cycling through that over and over and over. When do you start trying? I can't—" Tris stopped herself, closed her eyes, took a cleansing breath and exhaled slowly. Four noted how stiff his shoulders were and rolled them, taking a moment to take in a few breaths of his own. "I thought we were compromising. That's all."

"You shouldn't even be with me. This whole thing is a compromise!"

"Yeah. Your compromise is allowing me to be near you. So generous. And the second I even mention leaving Dauntless, you dangle it in my face like a prize. It's Dauntless and you, or factionless and alone. Nothing's changed at all in the last year, has it?"

"Me leaving Dauntless is not the same as you staying out. Tris, you have a good job, a nice place to live, you got enough to feed yourself and get by. If I leave Dauntless, I'm on the streets and in the factories. I'm all alone."

Tris was able to respond in a much more measured way. "No, you can work for Johanna. You could be here, with me. Together."

"While it lasts." Four gave voice to his doubts.

"It can last as long as you want it to! Which seems to be one night at a time. I guess that isn't even enough. Or is this just one more chance to manipulate me and punish me for what I did to you? Has the last nine months not been enough for you?" Tris clamped her mouth shut, her frame shaking with the effort of restraining herself.

"What the hell, Tris?" he warned, frustrated that she summed their entire relationship up in terms of sex. And her bizarre paranoia put him on his heels.

She sighed. "I think you should leave. I'm too tired and I'm not in a great mood. I might say something I shouldn't."

"Yeah, you just might," Four snarled, then crossed his arms and glared at her.

He could have stayed mad if she'd been healthy. But seeing her tied to herself and swallowing back obvious pain, he couldn't keep his temper. She kept her eyes on his feet, wiping at a tear that had spilled down her left cheek. He softened his posture, crossed over to her and placed his hand on her good arm then wrapped it around her back, pulling her into him. She resisted at first, then relaxed. He needed to make sure she knew she was everything, and even if they were yelling, she still meant more to him than anything else he'd ever known. She turned her head and listened to his heart.

"Don't give up, okay? I do love you. I'm sorry if I haven't said it enough, but I thought it was obvious. And just because you're mad and I'm mad, it doesn't mean I don't love you. We can figure this out."

He tried to wipe the tears off her cheek, but she pulled away. She nodded hastily then walked back to her room, making it clear he could show himself out.

He paused, listening to the silence of the apartment. She wasn't supposed to be alone. Four walked towards her door, he was relieved to see Caleb leaning in his doorway, arms crossed and his expression worried.

"I just wanted to make sure someone was here," Four mumbled in explanation.

"Yeah, always am." Caleb stepped forward and into Tris's room.

Tobias stumbled out of the apartment and into the stairwell, sinking to the floor in the middle of the first flight, dumbfounded. He sat for an hour, maybe more, waiting for a solution to come to mind. There had to be something he could say to fix it. She was in. She'd worked for months to make it back in. She had said it was for her, she had done it when they weren't talking and when he'd rejected her. It didn't make sense that now, when she had finally made her goal, she was throwing it away because of him. A glance at his watch pushed him into motion; he needed to catch a train back to the compound.

* * *

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	44. CH44: Love and Loyalties

**Editing and support from Milner and BK2U.**

* * *

Four ignored the crunching stones that foretold Amar's approach. He kept his eyes cast out towards the city center, where renovations were securing old buildings to give new lives to the factionless, the fringe, and the people without a place in the traditional structures. People like Tris. The flask Zeke had last left at his apartment tasted closer to rubbing alcohol than anything he wanted to drink. It was poetic that it seemed more like poison than the candy they usually concocted out of it. It suited his thoughts.

A soft hand crossed from one shoulder to the other, then down his elbow. Lauren threaded her fingers with his like they had so many times before. He had to exercise the same control as always to not pull away. He let out a breath, and felt the pressure of her digits squeeze his. The small affection comforted him in a way it never had before.

"Great, I'm hallucinating. What are you doing here?" He set the flask down and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

"Amar filled me in; there's only a few places you'd be. The roof seemed a good bet considering the weather. So, what's going on in your head?" She let his hand fall and jumped up on the small wall. His stomach flipped, uneasy with the thick cotton bandages on her forearms. His quick scan for a bracelet gave him some relief.

"I'm wondering what happened to your arms."

"Later. After we talk through your stuff. So, what's going on with you and Tris?"

"Well, um... Where to start? She doesn't think I love her. Bullshit. She doesn't think she belongs in Dauntless. Bullshit. She doesn't want to be with me. To be expected, but still bullshit. And she's fucking crazy. She thinks I'm just doing this to punish her for who knows what," he summarized.

"Okay, one step at a time. Why wouldn't she think you love her?" She got a stony face and typical silence that told his story better than words. "Yeah, total bullshit. You haven't said it to her... you fucked her, but you didn't actually tell her you loved her. What were you expecting?"

He stumbled through his thoughts. "I don't know. I... it wasn't necessary. She knows how I feel about her. She's making up excuses."

"Okay, how does she know? From what?"

"I mean, we spend so much time together. I train with her. The things we've done together..."

"Up until recently, you spent way more time with me than her. You still train with me more than you train with her. You apparently talk to me way more than you talk to her. Are we a tongue ride away from love?"

He kicked the wall with his toe.

"Good grief, Four. You have to actually tell people how you feel." She let him absorb and waited for him to nod. "Next, she's hurt. She wouldn't even be in Dauntless if this had happened last year, so you're just going to have to work through that. I mean, whatever you were planning on doing if she failed, you could still do that. It's not Dauntless or bust. It sucks for us, but what were you thinking?" He didn't care if it would turn him blind, he took two gulps. "You fucker. Really? You were just gonna leave her?" Lauren gaped in horror.

"Lauren, you don't understand. After Milwaukee... " He shook his head. It wasn't really Milwaukee; that was just a convenient way to bypass his anxiety over Tris's rejection and ending up alone.

"Well, then, you set yourself up, my friend. I don't know if I'd want to be with someone if I couldn't tell whether he loved me, or someone that kept me at arm's length for months, and God... a guy that wouldn't follow me if I got hurt? She seems pretty reasonable to me! Sounds like she's doing the right thing to protect herself. "

"Fuck." This time he threw the flask, launching it to fall hundreds of feet between buildings.

"So, game plan?"

"She's done. You just said for good reason. I'm a monster. So why fight it?"

"Don't be dumb. You're not a monster. You're just not making her feel secure. So you could walk away and let it lie, and everyone else around her will pick her back up, again. And they can do it without you, but don't think that it won't affect you and Zeke or you and Amar. They are not going to be okay with you just walking away. And honestly, are you really done? I mean, you do love her, right? You want her to stay, don't you?"

"Yeah, but... I've screwed things up completely, Lauren. There's basically nothing I can say that's gonna make her want to stay with me. She's never going to trust me. She's never going to want me."

"You're being dramatic. If she didn't want you, she wouldn't have been on that wall in the first place."

"What can I do? She doesn't want to talk to me. And if she did, she wouldn't believe me."

"Well, I guess the good ol' grand gesture is basically the only thing you got left."

"What do you mean?"

"She needs a grand gesture: some big, monumental display that tries to get her to believe you. Like romantic and grand. You gotta go deep on it, too. You gotta do something that makes her believe that she's more than just an easy fuck for you. You've screwed yourself over and you can't just tell her anymore, so now you gotta actually put in some effort and do something. A big something." He laughed at the word 'easy'.

"Like what?"

"Oh, so many options. Just off the top of my head, if you want the obvious one: go factionless." Four took a measured breath and swallowed hard. Lauren hesitated to even suggest the next extreme, but she did anyway. "If that's not enough, you could marry her. You Stiffs do that this young, right?" Once upon a time, Marcus had been an eager groom and then it all went wrong for his bride. He felt his throat threaten to close up at the idea. "I don't know what else... you gotta think about leaving the faction for her. It's the simplest, easiest thing that will carry some weight."

Now he felt like his throat was going to close up while he vomited, if that was even possible.

"Or, you could try telling her every little thing that swims somewhere between that over-clocked brain and that huge heart you try to hide, and hope she believes you. Maybe that would be enough."

"You got any other options?"

"I can't solve every problem for you. You gotta think of something and then just go big. Emphasizing big, here. Show her it's more than words. That you're not giving up on her."

"Great. Thanks. I'll try to think of something where I won't end up starving on the streets."

"You've really never told her you love her?" Lauren snaked her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. He just groaned.

Holding Lauren in a sustained hug was second nature after years of playing house, but it comforted him one second and made him hurt the next. He wanted desperately to replace her with Tris.

"So, your arms? What happened?" he asked. His chin rested on her head as the last light from the sun dropped below the horizon.

"I'm not allowed at the fence pending some more psychiatric assistance." Lauren let out a heavy sigh and tightened her grip on him. "I managed to talk them out of the 104. It really was a one-time thing. I wasn't trying to off myself."

"Lauren... What happened?"

"It was the thunderstorm last night. I... I don't know what came over me. It was just... I couldn't shake it. It sounded just like my sim." Her voice came from someplace farther away than just her head, some memory that was replaying violently in the back of her mind. "I guess I scratched myself up. I don't even remember it hurting." He held her tighter and hoped he was giving her strength.

"I'm going in, it's cold. And Raf is freaked out about me being up here. Whatever you decide to do, just remember, she's the one that's not okay right now. So you better give her room to be not okay. You gotta be the one that's patient and takes the hits. Alright?" She pulled her arms free and gently rubbed his shoulder before crunching her way back to the stairs. He stayed, over-thinking grand gestures, futures, pasts, and secrets between mosquito swats.

* * *

"I don't want to talk to him." Tris trailed at a distance and looked over her shoulder every third step. She assumed Tobias was tracking her on the cameras, waiting for her.

"Are you sure?" Christina held the door open.

"I'll make it worse."

"No, you won't."

"I already did. I blew the whole thing up again."

"Tris—"

"Christina, I don't want to talk to him. Okay?" Tris snarled through clenched teeth. She immediately tucked her chin to her neck and fought the swing of guilt from sweeping her away.

"Okay. You don't have to talk to him. I'll run interference, you talk to Janice for a second, and we'll set up the escort. You can hide out in an exam room."

"Tris!" Ro spotted her before they made it to the medical center. He jogged up, all broad teeth and alert eyes. Tris shrank a little behind Christina. She didn't want to yell at anyone. "Hey, Baby Girl. I tried to see you, but I didn't know you don't live here."

"Don't call me that." He leaned back, concerned and wounded. She bit her tongue and thought a little harder about her response. "Sorry, bad day. Yeah, I'm still in the city until I'm…you know… back in." Tris looked at Christina, worried she'd finish taking Ro's head off.

"Oh, right. So when you moving? I am an excellent box carrier." Ro winked at her and flashed a grin.

"Um… well, I'm just kind of focusing on getting my arm fixed." Tris pointed at the medical center and started moving. He walked with her.

"Oh, jeez, right. How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad." Tris didn't look up.

"Hey, we gotta get stuff done, okay?" Christina stepped in to save Tris from any more interactions.

Ro slowed and stopped following. "Well, you just let me know, and I'll get the guys together and we'll have your stuff back where it belongs in one trip."

"Thanks." Tris sped up the closer she got to Janice's office. Ro looked after her with a creased brow, shrugged, and turned back towards his friends.

"See, you have friends here. It's great to be close to friends. And, you know, options…" Christina stated more to herself. She backed into the doorjamb and slammed her funny bone while watching Ro jog away.

"Tris!" Janice sprang up from behind her desk and quickly pulled out a chair. "Sit down. That is a really long walk. You've got to be tired."

"I hurt my shoulder, Janice. Not my legs." Tris took a breath and had to concentrate on looking straight ahead and not copping any more attitude.

"Injuries take a lot out of the body." She was pulling a folder off her stack and flicked it open. "I got the report from Erudite this morning, but I haven't read it. Karla said it looked mostly routine, except for the implant part. We don't really see implants here." Christina cleared her throat and kicked the base of the desk. The loud boom got Janice thinking a little faster. "But we're starting to see them more and more!" she grimaced.

"So, no one else has an implant? I'm shocked," Tris deadpanned her response and glared at Christina.

"I'll admit, not like this. I mean there's quite a few with boobs, teeth, some compound fractures get rods and stuff. But, this is a new Dauntless. This is a Dauntless for everyone. Well, almost everyone." Christina kicked the desk again.

"But not for me," Tris added and nodded.

"Yes! You're in. Didn't anyone tell you? They voted you in. You are exactly what makes us the new Dauntless."

"And how long are we gonna be the new Dauntless before the old Dauntless creeps back in?"

Janice pursed her lips and sucked her teeth. Tris's tone sounded more menacing than hypothetical. "So, what's the plan, girls?" Janice cut to the chase.

"I need to train and then I have patrol exercises. She has another appointment at Candor at eight. Can you arrange an escort?"

"There and back?"

"No, they said she could be there all day and then Caleb will take her back to their apartment when he gets off work."

"Sure, okay. Karla's free. And what about this surgery… uh, tomorrow? Does she need anything?"

"Maybe some goddamned recognition. I'm right here," Tris snapped, crossing her free arm over the one bandaged underneath her shirt.

"Right…" Janice cringed and switched to looking Tris in the eyes. "Sorry. What's the next step, Tris?"

"Talk to my babysitter." She shoved out of her chair and stood outside the door.

"Wow."

"They gave her a dose of Carton. She's mainly got the mood swings, not the headache like last time." Christina made Tris's excuses.

"Carton? Again? Who authorized that? Dauntless members don't get Carton, ever."

"Scout apparently gave it the green light." Christina didn't hide her feelings well.

"Fuck her. That is way too extreme. How'd she even know to ask for it?" Janice joined her indignation.

"She might have just gone with the suggestion, but I'd like to know who suggested it."

"Why would it even be needed for a shoulder injury?"

Christina waffled on saying anything, then admitted, "Tris doesn't always do well in Erudite — too many memories. And she was told, by Scout, that she was out. It was just a bad situation. But, of course, I'm making assumptions. She hasn't really given me the rundown. She may not even remember exactly how it happened."

"Oh." Janice paused and thought for a moment. "Well, what about this surgery?"

"It's a bit of a complicated schedule. She goes in to assess the swelling at seven. If the swelling is down, they start surgery at eight. They already said they will keep her overnight. She's refusing any other medications and she could get dehydrated or have complications. I have afternoon patrols tomorrow, so I can only drop her off. Caleb will go after work to check in and then he's going to get her the next day. He's already asked for it off so he can take care of her, but he wasn't sure if it would be approved. So, I'm going to put in paperwork for a few days of leave. Even if he gets it, Caleb can't afford to miss much more work this month.

"Now, if there's no surgery, Caleb said I can take her to Erudite's library for the day. So I might still be a little late coming back, but I should be here by eight thirty. And we'll have to make another set of plans for whenever they want to do the next assessment. I'm gonna try and talk to Four and catch him up on the details. And then I'll attempt to get him back over to her, regardless of her having the surgery. But…" She squirmed.

"Issues? Again?"

"I don't know. They talked yesterday, or more like yelled at each other, according to Caleb. And so now she doesn't want to talk to him at all. She doesn't want to snap at him or make things worse."

"She is pretty charming. How could he resist?" Janice mused.

"Yeah, a ripe peach. Caleb is pretty sure this type of Carton is milder; he's looking up more about it today– he didn't get very far yesterday. We're hoping it'll wear off faster than the daily dose version. I'm hoping for another day or two, instead of the weeks we went through."

"One can only hope. I'll page Karla and prep her for the worst of it." Christina started to leave, but Janice called her back. "You're a saint sometimes, you know?"

"I'd say I'm less a saint and maybe just more of a sister."

"Not much difference." Janice held out her cup full of suckers and insisted Christina take two.

* * *

Zeke shoved past a gaggle of tween girls loitering in the hallway, ignoring their complaints. Four waffled between being a good friend — following him and Hector to the infirmary — and going up to his apartment to sleep. It sounded like a run-of-the-mill ankle sprain, nothing that really required an entourage. And the extra attention probably wouldn't make Shauna feel less embarrassed about her tumble down the stairs. He swiveled his gaze around the room, trying to make up his mind, when he spotted Christina on the bars doing pull-ups, then Amar leaning against the wall.

"Hey, I see Christina. Is Tris here?" he asked Amar, scouring around the room.

"Not anymore, but she was. She went into Candor with Karla for some appointment. I didn't talk with her, just saw her with Chris."

"Oh. But she seemed okay, right?"

"She seemed calm, I guess. Looked almost normal, ignoring her arm being all tied up. I think she's being proactive. That was the impression I got. She talked with Janice, waited for her escort, and then left. She must want Dauntless to be aware of what's going on. It's smart to involve the infirmary now so there's far less confusion later."

"So maybe she's staying?"

"I assume so. I mean, she came all the way out here to get an escort back into the city. Why? Haven't you two talked about this?"

"As much as she'll let me. She was pretty clear she didn't want me around yesterday. I might try again tomorrow, or give her one more day to think about things."

"You sure you want to give her that much time?"

"You weren't there."

"Just think hard about your next move, okay? A lot of us have put in too much work for you to chase her out of her fucking faction." Four was taken aback by the sudden animosity.

"I'll talk to her."

"No! You're gonna convince her. Look around. There aren't that many smart people here. Look at our leadership team. Do you want them running this place forever? We need Tris. We need the Divergent. People know her. Candor knows her. The factionless know her. Everyone knows her. We need her in Dauntless. She's the best hope we have of sustaining our way of life."

"I am not getting on the bandwagon to coerce her in. And if you spring any of that shit on her, you'll regret it. She has to choose Dauntless for her own reasons, not yours."

Amar dropped the act, his face becoming neutral. The change caused Four to blink rapidly. "Yeah, she does. You remember that, okay? Her own reasons, not yours. Just think through your next move and make sure you're not pressuring her into a bad situation for your own benefit." He punctuated his point with a dismissive jut of his chin.

"Oh, fuck you. I'm not a child, you can just talk to me." Four turned away and started counting. Each step gave him an excuse to stretch his neck and then let his shoulders droop, the tension draining a little from his body. He was passing by the infirmary, half-looking for Zeke and mostly hoping he didn't see him, when a jerk on his jacket took his attention.

"Four, save me the hike upstairs. One for you, and a few for your neighbors, if you could." Stew pushed a packet of envelopes at him.

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Four mumbled, staring down at the dirty envelope with his nickname roughly printed on the front. All he could think about was how fast the response had been; it gave him a sense of happiness that someone was still alive. But the converse dread competed for his attention. He walked like a zombie up the stairs, running into a couple of people because he was so distracted.

He quickly slid the other envelopes under their respective doors and stumbled into his apartment, forgetting to take his boots off. He set the letter on the corner of his side table and sank down onto the mattress to stare at it. It was just a piece of paper, and it had words and ink... and answers... and judgments... and cowardice, certified in print. He picked it up, fumbled it, and had to reach deep under his bed to retrieve it again. He pulled out the duffel bag to reach it and sat on the floorboards. He ripped the flap open to devour the contents.

* * *

"Do you feel better?" Christina prompted when they exited Candor. Her patrol lead had dismissed her early from exercises. While she was tempted to stick to the plan and let Caleb get Tris after work, she was curious and hopeful that Candor had been able to help.

"I do, I think. Well, maybe?" Tris transitioned from concrete to unsure in a matter of seconds.

Christina wasn't sure what to make of her statements. "Okay… Did you get to talk with Cameron today, or was it just meditation and that addiction group again?"

Tris lit up. "Yeah, I did! She explained some things. And that's helping me try to pull things apart and compartmentalize and rationalize."

Christina was relieved. She understood that schedules were sometimes impossible to change, but Tris really needed information specific to her situation. "Good. So, what was her explanation?"

"First, did you know that the fear serum stays in your system longer than just the sim?" Tris liked having more information, and she liked even better that, for once, she was the expert on her condition.

"I didn't." Christina was amused at Tris's gleeful expression, a relief after the depression of last night.

"The sim requires the serum to be in a specific concentration to put you into a hallucinogenic state. There's two triggers, one is the system that's controlled by the operator, and the other is biologic. When it metabolizes below that level, that's when you're guaranteed to wake up regardless of the equipment. But it lingers in your soft tissues for a few days. Remember during initiation? All the nightmares?"

Christina shivered, remembering the little wings that fluttered just under her ear. "Don't remind me, I just had my sim last week."

"Well, because we were doing sims every day, it was building up and making our dreams more vivid and making everyone a little paranoid. And then, some medications that are meant to dampen the response systems end up interacting with what's left. Um… hmm… I can't remember if she said it was because it slowed the reaction or because it lowered the threshold for what was effective. One of those. Anyways, so even though I did my sim about eighteen hours before, the Carton amplified what was left. It's why I had the mood swings so bad right away. But also why I feel much more in control today, since it's been almost two and a half days."

"Well, it's nice to have the explanation. But it still doesn't explain why Erudite gave it to you in the first place."

"So there're some things I know happened. Like, they saw the bracelet and called Candor for my current records, and from that discussion, the Carton became an option. And then there're things I don't know, like if it was Candor's intention to give me Carton because they didn't know about the SIM, or Erudite's misunderstanding, or what. I do know that while they were on the phone, that's when I had the anxiety attack, and I think Scout just wanted to stop what was happening. I don't know if she even asked any questions. Or at least that's what I've pieced together from the discharge papers, Cameron, and what I remember. Then again, it's all a bit blurry. Like, I don't know when Scout left. I know she was gone by the time you got there."

"She was still in the hallway," Christina offered, and then redirected. "So, did you talk about Tobias?"

"He'd rather you call him Four," Tris corrected.

"The question is: what are you calling him today? Because the other night, you seemed to need the reminder that he's not just Four to you."

Tris smirked at an instant and inappropriate thought, then hurt deep within her chest, then quickly felt nothing. She wondered if she'd made up the pain. Where her emotions left her guessing, her brain could fill in. "I don't trust myself yet. I'm not ready to make decisions."

"Good, I agree. It's too soon for decisions. But did you talk about him? About your situation?"

"Some."

"Like two sentences, an hour, obsessively?"

"Not obsessively. I tried, but I got upset. She suggested I try to hold off for a day or two until I'm more even-keeled, so I distracted myself. She said I shouldn't think of upsetting things while I wait. So I played this game on a computer for most of the day, and did some of their meditation exercises. And I walked on the treadmill for a while. She says I should do anything but think about my situation if I can help it."

"That's an interesting suggestion from a Candor," Christina snorted. "So, have you thought about Dauntless at all?"

"As little as possible. That's sort of a big part of the situation." Tris shrugged.

"Okay, well, they're looking for an answer. And I don't know that you have time to wait for everything to be one hundred percent back to normal."

"I don't know, Christina. Nothing I feel is trustworthy. I could feel four ways about Dauntless if you asked me four times, and all of them would be the truth right then."

"Rather than asking you how you feel about it, maybe we should just write down the things you've liked about Dauntless. You know: facts, history, activities." Christina pulled out a little pad of paper from under her body armor.

"What are your top three things you like about Dauntless?" She readied her pen and slowed her pace.

Tris tried to watch the sidewalk for both of them, trying to guide Christina with her free hand. "Okay, one… Cake."

"Cake," Christina wrote and nodded. "And?"

"You."

"But, cake first?" Christina was quick to take the opportunity to tease her.

"Yes, cake first. How about second, too. Circle it, underline it, even," Tris sassed with a smile.

"I come in second to cake?"

"I'm hungry. I can't eat you!" Tris exclaimed.

"Well, you could, I wouldn't say no." Tris's eyes got twice as large and she put some distance between them. "Joking… What else?"

Tris raised an eyebrow and tried to only think about the question. "I do like training with everyone, playing soccer. I'm getting pretty good at soccer."

"Alright, so training with everyone. Who's everyone?"

"You know… everyone." Tris wanted to avoid saying Tobias's name.

"Zeke? Ro? Amar? George?" Tris nodded after each name.

"And soccer," she added.

"And soccer. At least I rank higher than soccer," Christina confirmed.

"Can we sit?" Tris pointed at the bench.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just need to rest for a second. The way it's wrapped makes it hard to breathe." She leaned back on the bench and stretched with a grimace.

"What else?" Christina wanted to distract her from the pain.

"Oh! Amar's dinners. I love going to Amar's. And Lauren is really nice to me, too. She gave me a lot of clothes and she altered some of them."

"That was nice of her. So you like a lot of people there. Let's focus on a few other things. What else do you like about Dauntless?"

"Uh… I…" Tris struggled to find another reason.

"Never mind Dauntless, switch focus. What do you like about living factionless?"

"Factionless? Uh… I like my job. I like my research. I like what Caleb and I have now."

"Okay, all good things. So, what don't you like about Dauntless?"

"The leadership. I don't know why they don't give me credit. It's like those three months at the Bureau erased every fact around what I did during the war. And all that's left is that I disappeared and I didn't show back up for months, and now I'm suspicious."

"Yeah, I don't get that part either. Why the loyalty test? I sort of get the physical stuff and the shooting, that's just qualifying, but what the hell is their problem with people exercising a little choice? They only tested the people that went to Erudite, and those of us that left for a second to think about life. Why didn't they test everyone that stayed, too? Maybe some of them wanted to go to Erudite but woke up on the wrong side of the city!"

"Yeah, that. That drives me nuts."

"Me, too. What else?"

"I don't know that I like the structure. Once you pick a job you're stuck. There's not a lot you can do about it. You're in patrol for the rest of your life. But what if you don't like patrol after a few years or you just want some variety?"

"It's pretty fun. I like it. I mean, I haven't been to the fence yet, but the stories make it seem like there's good parts about that, too," Christina offered.

"But what if you don't like it? You can't change."

"No, I guess not. But you're never guaranteed to like what you do. And life is never going to be perfect. So you have to take control of what you can and make the best out of it. I had to do the same type of pros and cons when I was picking where I wanted to go."

"I know it was your test result, but still, why Dauntless?"

"Well, mainly because I knew I couldn't put up with Candor for the rest of my life. As much as you say I have a smart mouth, you have no idea how quiet I really am by comparison. And I like not always hearing about my faults. It's so exhausting to hear every day how you're not good enough, or you're not doing it right, or how you're supposed to be different. And you're supposed to just take it in stride and use it to make yourself better, but it's so damned great to be able to have a bad hair day and not have to hear about it."

"You never have a bad hair day."

"See, like that! It's a lie, but I totally love you for it." Christina nudged her.

"Leaving Caleb is hard," Tris admitted.

"I bet. He's really come around to be a pretty good guy. And I know you two are a lot closer than you were."

"Wow. That sounded like a compliment."

Christina sighed and rolled her eyes. "He hasn't flaked out once, and that's been a relief, but it's not a compliment. It's an expectation."

"Sure. I bet he takes it as a compliment."

"Shush. Not a word." Christina evaluated Tris, watching her smile softly and play with the folds of her shirt layered over her arm. "Are you okay to walk?"

"Yeah. But, it's sort of nice to be outside. I know you've been out all day, but can we take a longer route?"

"Sure. Not gonna be this nice much longer."

"I hate winter," Tris groused.

"But, I love the fall." Christina started listing apples and pumpkin pie and the harvest feasts Candor used to have. She knew exactly how to make Tris excited to stay with her friends.

* * *

Four picked a table that was completely empty. He checked around and over each shoulder before he pulled out a blank page and a pen. Composing a response was proving harder than he expected; it was made especially difficult when he only had thirty minutes before his meeting with Harrison.

He tried to focus on the facts of Liam's reply. Steven was dead. Winston had left for Indianapolis. Liam was curious about Chicago. He was fighting his annoyance at having to consider anything other than his own immediate questions. But to get the help he wanted, he would need to answer all of Liam's questions and try to refocus him on helping him with his search. But his thoughts kept getting hung up on Steven. What happened to Steven? Did the men come back for him? Was it an accident? Was he to blame? There were so many questions.

Shauna rolled her wheelchair into his seat with a cheery exclamation, "What up?!"

Four jumped, folded his papers, and started to move chairs so she had a place to slide into. Shauna was probably too far back from the table to see anything too incriminating.

"What were you working on?" She slid her tray onto the table.

"Ah, I… um… I'm just gonna write my mom," he lied. He was less than excited when Christina and Derrick took the chairs around him. All he wanted to think about was how he would respond to Liam.

"That's… that's good. Right?" Shauna gave him a smile.

"Yeah. My therapist has been helping me process some stuff. And unfinished business just festers."

Shauna picked up her silverware. "And Tris? How is she?" Four didn't answer; he dropped his eyes to the table. "What's going on?"

"It's fucked," he grumbled.

Shauna raised an eyebrow and looked at Christina. "Is Tris okay?"

"She's out of surgery around two," Christina stated, looking at him directly. Four ignored her, pushing his food around his plate. "She should be awake and in recovery for about an hour, then they'll take her back to a room for the night. You can visit her then."

Shauna's eyebrows went up when Four didn't acknowledge Christina at all. "You are going to visit though, right? It can't be that...fucked." Shauna at least got a glare in response. The fact that anyone was questioning if he'd go or not was upsetting. He made the decision not to engage and started to concentrate on his plate.

"Well, what is it... the tenth time you've split up? He's trying for a clean break. Right?" Derrick, for some unknown reason, attempted to quell Four's critics. Shauna quickly put the two statements together and sat back, caught off guard. No one had mentioned their issues to her.

"He's going to visit his girlfriend. It's just a fight," Christina corrected, trying her hardest not to be snippy towards Derrick. He'd respected her space in every way — except when he joined her, and admittedly his, friends at meals.

"At least go as a friend," Shauna said, not certain what damage had been done or exactly how to help. The word grated on his frayed nerves. The idea that Tris could ever just be a friend wasn't something he wanted to consider.

"If you show her you care she'll come around, and even if she quits you can still make something work." Christina was staring at Shauna like an intruder.

Shauna wasn't going to let a transfer tell her about her own faction. "There are rules in place: Dauntless laws. Tris can't decide not to come back to Dauntless and still have a relationship with Four. It's not allowed," Shauna challenged, without thinking what it must have sounded like to Four.

"Screw the rules. She hasn't made a decision about anything. And no one cares anymore, anyway." Christina was clenching her fork tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Interesting assumption. You must not know Dauntless as well as you think you do. Faction before blood means more now than it ever did. She better be picking her job from her hospital bed or she might as well stay out," Shauna snapped. She heard a heavy sigh from Four, and regretted opening her mouth.

Christina turned to Derrick, who was suddenly investigating the quickest exit from the situation, but he still caught the look expecting him to defend her. "Chris, she's right. Even if she chooses Dauntless, if everyone else catches wind that she was voted in and she didn't immediately accept, they'll never trust her loyalty. That's not just laws, that's how we are."

"She's been hurt. She's in surgery right now. Cut her some slack." She pointed her fork at Four. "You're going to go visit, and you're going to convince her to stay in. I am not losing my best friend because some boy screwed her over." Christina crossed her arms and waited for Four to acknowledge her.

Shauna grabbed his wrist, gently disrupting his meditation over the pattern of peas he was making in the mashed potatoes he wasn't eating. "Four, I think you'd feel better if you at least went, if you tried something. You need to go see her. You need to actually talk to her." He gave a nod of agreement before he stood and dumped his tray on the way out the door.

* * *

Erudite's hallways in the inpatient wing were oddly like those at the Bureau. They were so similar, it was as if the same person had chosen the colors and the dimensions. Instead of a big viewing window in the wall, there was a large window in the door. The subtle difference was just enough to keep his anxiety from boiling over into panic. The blinds were closed on the window, but he could tell the lights were off inside. Tobias paused and stalled for twenty minutes, leaning against the wall and staring at his boots.

A nurse eyed him suspiciously, dragging her cart of equipment behind her. She passed him, pulled up a chart, and prepared to enter the room. "Are you lost?"

"I just... the lights are off, she might be sleeping," he stammered. She didn't look like she was accustomed to seeing a Dauntless member caught off guard.

"Well, she won't be when I'm done. You can go in then." She tapped lightly and disappeared.

He had a sudden urge to leave, to avoid the inevitable, to delay their pending fight. Or worse, if she didn't even want to see him, the rejection. He paced back and forth across the hallway, working himself up then back down through every crazed thought and feeling. Where he'd been focused when he first approached, he was now getting distracted by the unbearable countdown to their encounter.

"She's all yours." The nurse reappeared and raised an eyebrow until his feet started moving towards the room.

Tobias slid his hands into his pockets as soon as he was inside the door to suppress his instinct to comfort her. Tris had a sheen of sweat across her forehead and down her neck. A little vein pulsed by her temple when she took a deep breath, and her face was contorted into a grimace, her eyebrows pinched. He crinkled his fingers, anxious from seeing her in pain, and half expected a strangled "Just leave" to come out of her lips.

A slightly friendlier huff came instead. "Hi."

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "I came to see how you are."

"Christina forced you?"

"No one twisted my arm. It's not like I've suddenly stopped caring." He disarmed her and stepped a little closer, not sure exactly what to do with himself.

She looked at him; the light from the window caught his face. "Did you stop caring about yourself? You don't look so good." She evaluated his unkempt beard and the black hollows around his eyes. Leaning forward was a mistake. She groaned; her pulse accelerated and her breathing went erratic for a moment. The uneven beeps of her monitors unnerved him.

He tried to ignore her distress, but his face wasn't convincing. He gave her a soft smile to try and cover up his concern. "I'm not out to impress anyone. Amar pulled me further into this competition planning. It's been a struggle to get time between that and the rest of my work."

"Well, you do like to be busy," she said in a slightly joking tone, her breaths evening out.

He gave a solemn nod. "Yeah."

"Christina said you're not handling things well."

"Am I supposed to be? Are you?"

She shook her head. Her smile failed to disguise another wave of pain. "I've got things to distract me, and now eight weeks of rehab."

His capacity for watching her be in pain was nearly reached. "You need me to get the nurse? Get you more pain medication?"

She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I won't take it."

"What?"

"I won't. I can't. Drugs... They really, really affect me. I'm an addict, remember?" She grimaced again.

He wanted to force feed her, but he changed the subject instead. "So, just eight weeks?"

"It wasn't as badly torn as they thought. There was still some muscle attached, but they couldn't tell with the swelling on the scan. So they think it's going to heal quicker. But they said I shouldn't train much with it for a year."

Tris watched his eyes snap to hers and she could see his tongue pressing on the inside of his lip. Silence dragged on between them, and she was about to fill it when he decided to speak.

"Training? So you thought about staying? Or, not Dauntless training? Some other training?" He looked at her, hopeful.

"Yeah, in the last two hours since they told me, I've done an in-depth analysis of the pros and cons." Pain made her snippy, even if she was trying not to be.

Tobias had to take a breath to stifle an equal response. "I'm not saying you have to make a decision. Obviously, if you want to play it safe, you know what that looks like. But just think, you've worked so hard to get back in. And you can be closer to your friends. You know, you can live with Christina, train with Zeke... and Ro..." He ducked his chin.

"With you?"

"Your decision is about you and what you want. About where and how you want to live. It's not about me or us. You could have a real impact on Dauntless as smart as you are, with what you know about the Bureau, Johanna, and the central government. The ideas you have are good. They really are. The faction needs people like you." He hated that Amar's speech –especially a fake one– had trickled out of his mouth.

"The factions are going to be a thing of the past in a decade. The number of factionless and fringe are already half as many as faction members, and every day more people are leaving the constraints behind."

He sighed. "Just think about it some more. You shouldn't give up on Dauntless just because everyone else is leaving their factions. You should be there because it's where you belong. It's where you've always belonged." She didn't respond. "So?"

"What? I don't know. You said you didn't expect a decision right now," she defended.

"No, I just was hoping it could be a discussion. I was hoping you'd at least give me a hint at what you're thinking." He laughed, uneasy. "I'm dying here."

"If I came back and we don't end up together, what would that look like?"

"Oh. I guess, that would... I don't know. We'd have to..." He couldn't force his thoughts out eloquently, the heat rising up into his face and the prickle of reality settling in the back of his throat, behind his eyes, collapsing his lungs. "We can make something work. I'll figure something out so it's not too uncomfortable for you. I can make myself scarce easy enough. Night shifts and... uh... I mean, I'm not as social as you. I'll stay as out of your way as I can." He nodded, staring at the bed railing, and took an inventory of the bag under his bed; then he thought about the number of night shifts he could get in a week. He started to turn, backing up a couple steps.

"I'm not saying..." She tried to assure him, but she'd certainly thought about it.

"No, it's fine. If it's what you need, what you want. I earned it, after all. Then...right." He pulled himself together enough to give her a sad smile. "Well? That's it?"

"No." She puffed out her cheeks on an exhale. "It's just one of the options. I'm not ready to make that decision. I'm hurt. I'm not feeling good. I've made that mistake before."

Hospitals could be strangely quiet amidst the periodic noise of the equipment. The rhythmic beeps and squeaks faded into the background like a heartbeat, and yet still filled the lonely moments with a reminder of a world outside. Neither moved nor progressed beyond their stifled considerations until the bustling of staff outside the door disrupted their contemplations.

"Sit with me?" Tris asked quietly.

"You sure?" She nodded. He carefully helped her shuffle out of the center of her bed and took the edge next to her. He held her and smelled her hair, wondering if it would end up being a goodbye.

They sat, uncomfortably, through the beeps and the whirls. Conversations between nurses echoed by the door. They sat in silence until a doctor came to the door and suggested Tobias step out and let Tris rest.

"Tris, I love you," he said, purposefully and truthfully. And then he held his breath and started to feel the cold drip of sweat and the clenching of his chest. Tris fidgeted under his arm and shifted to smooth the blanket.

"I love you, too." She hissed when his arm squeezed her shoulder in a sudden jolt of relief.

"You need to take something for the pain." He shifted and moved off the bed.

"I can't."

"Won't."

"Yeah, well, I'm twice as stubborn as you," she sighed.

"At least we agree on something." He kissed her forehead and reluctantly left her alone in the room.

The walk to the train was long enough for hundreds of thoughts to course from the front, attentive section, to the back of his mind. But one kept pushing its way back into focus: Tris was in pain. She knew enough to realize she might not make the best decisions, but how long would the pain last, and when would she just give in and let it drive her? She needed to take something. She needed something that she knew would work and yet wouldn't affect her like the drugs Erudite was offering.

Tobias skipped the jump at Dauntless. Harrison wasn't going to be pleased that he didn't come back to his shift, but he didn't care. He rode the route to Amity with most of his body out in the wind, a grand gesture on his mind.

* * *

**And here ends Chapter 44. Please take a minute to reflect on everything that has happened and all that could happen and click in the little review box and tell me about it. November is for nanowrimo, good luck to the other writers, see you on the other side.**


	45. CH45: Words and More

The usual support staff: Milner, BK2U.

* * *

Tobias was less cautious in the hallway outside her room than the previous afternoon. He tapped on the door, but didn't wait before he opened it. He listened for a sign he was intruding, his eyes down and averted just in case. He looked up to watch her face fall when she realized it was him.

"Morning," he greeted, despite his dented confidence. Without giving her an opportunity to respond, Tobias stepped up to the side of her bed and dug around in his pocket.

"You have dirt all over you. What have you been doing?" Tris gagged at the smell of sweat and soil.

"I went to Amity last night. It was a long way back." He continued to fish and gave up pulling out just his prize. He started to empty his pocket.

"You what? Walked back from Amity? What were you doing in Amity?" She adjusted herself in bed for the five-thousandth time, trying to still the ache in her shoulder. The ventilation kicked on and pushed the smell away. She relaxed and took a deep breath.

"Well, I didn't know when you were going home, so I ran a bit of it, but I went to get…" He had fished out a knife, a bit of paper, then a plastic bag of some brown crumbs, and finally he presented, "I went to get the pain drops." He held up the vial between his thumb and index finger. "They're all natural. They're completely non-addictive. You've had them before so you know how you feel when you're on them. Please, please, take them so that you feel better. So that you know that any decision you make is because of you and not because of anything else."

She took the little jar. The handwritten label on the bottle only said not to exceed 15 drops in a day.

"Please?"

"I don't know. What if—"

"Tris, you've had them before. Did they do anything but relieve the pain?" He wasn't going to take no for an answer, not for something so important.

"No. They worked fine," she admitted, and tried to twist the cap and hold the bottle with one hand. Four presented his palm, offering to open the container for her. She huffed, annoyed she needed his help, and handed him the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and returned the dropper. The taste hadn't improved — that alone could have been enough to empty her stomach. She put a cold hand on the back of her neck and tried to breathe in through her mouth and out her nose.

Tobias settled onto the chair and focused on her face and her body language. Any shift in her expression could indicate the pain was improving. The dirt filled the creases in his brow, intensifying his expression.

Tris tried to calculate the number of miles between Erudite and Dauntless, then Dauntless and Amity. She worked from the number of hours he'd been gone — about twelve — and that adults could walk four miles in an hour. She had to concentrate more than usual to remember her times tables. Had he walked forty-eight miles? Even if he'd walked twenty, he had walked it for her. Tris started to tear up. The things she'd said, thought, yelled — her doubts because of his doubts. She was overcome with guilt, then anger and annoyance. It didn't make sense to be annoyed. She couldn't tell how much of what she felt was mood swings. She tried to focus on clarifying the facts. "You went all the way to Amity?"

"Of course I did. I love you. I want you to make the best decisions. I want you to sleep. I want you to know you're making the right decision for you and not just because you're hurting." Tris's lip quivered. Tobias added, with a little laugh to lighten the moment, "I want you to not feel like shit and bite my head off." He pulled the chair closer to her bed.

"Thank you." Tris reached out for him and squeezed his hand. She waited for the throbbing to decrease; it was better in minutes, almost gone after ten. Tobias debated if he should be waiting and watching, or if he was delaying the inevitable; Tris was hoping the ventilation would click back on.

Tris expected a big change. She wanted an epiphany to crash in with violent clarity through the haze she'd been suffering since her injury. Rationally, she knew that everything she'd been feeling was a side effect of the pain, the Carton, and the awful mix of the two. But clarity didn't come all at once like a lightning strike. A strange, calm feeling did seep in and squelched some of her turmoil with a simple truth: she couldn't doubt that he loved her or that he wanted her to love him back. While it was conceivable that she could find love with someone else eventually, leaving certain reciprocation behind wasn't something she was interested in.

"I'm gonna come back if Amar can get me the right exceptions for my shoulder." She was resolute and definitive in her statement.

He sat up straighter — a sharp intake of breath helped stiffen his spine. His hand was hardly steady, crushing hers for a moment and loosening when she cringed. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"This isn't because of me, right? You gotta want this for it to work out. And you shouldn't make a decision before you're ready. If you're still hurting, or—"

Tris squeezed his hand and assured him, "No, no. It's more than that. Me and Christina, we've been talking. A lot. And there's parts of me that really belong in Dauntless. I just don't feel alive without it, you know? It makes sense in some ways that it's where I should be. It's where I want to be, even if there's other parts of me that should be somewhere else. So I told her before the surgery yesterday to go ahead and get the ball rolling."

He wasn't exactly comforted by how she'd divided herself up among her options, like her choice was giving up on other parts. "Christina didn't mention that. She made it seem like you hadn't made your decision yet."

"Well, I mean, I asked her to talk to Amar about it. I guess I haven't actually told leadership or anything. I need to know that they're not going to kick me out the first time drills come around."

"Amar will get you covered. But still, that's good. You're doing this for you, on your terms." Tobias tried to calm himself more than assure her.

"I am doing it for me. I want this," Tris insisted.

Tobias stayed quiet despite the excitement driving his heart to pound in his chest. He focused on her fingers between his. She pulled her hand away, then reconsidered the motion. She grazed the top of his right index finger, traced the tendon down the back of his hand to his wrist. Her thumb circled around his forearm to make sweeping, soothing strokes on his arm. He caught her smiling, looking down at their hands. He couldn't help himself. With her, he could never not be greedy.

"And me? What do you want from me? I can give you space, more time, whatever you want. You just tell me and I'll do it."

"I want… I want…" Tris let her answer hang while her mind flipped through varying scenes: conversations on his bed, grapes under trees, hugs that lasted longer than she expected and still ended too soon, and the serene feeling of being skin to skin with him under the sheets. "I want slow and steady, like we always pretend we're gonna go." She smirked and blushed a little. "I guess, I just want to be with you for a change. I want to know you. And honestly, you not being around the last few days, it shocked me. I don't like how quick you are to jump to conclusions, and I felt alone in a lot of ways. Maybe it's not fair because of what I said, but I expected you to come back to talk and you didn't. It's like you don't care enough to fight for me, but then you expect me to do so much. Then again, you've been out all night getting me pain drops. It's confusing, and it's hard to know what the right thing to do is when all I know is that you don't support any of the other options." From his expression, she wished she'd been more concise and clear.

He blinked and processed for a moment and tried to pick what he wanted to respond to. "I support you coming back into Dauntless. I don't think it's reasonable to ask me to support plans that take you away from me."

"But you keep saying I have to do what's right for me, but really what you're saying is 'choose Dauntless or you don't love me'. And that's unfair."

"I don't see things like that. And you said you were coming back for you."

"I am. But that's what it feels like when I think about being with you. And then I think about it more, and I don't know if you're even who I think you are anymore. And if that's true for me, then it's true for you, too. Are you even in love with me, or are you in love with the idea of me? Or do you love who I was, the old me? Did you even know her that well? Like, who do you even love?" Tobias dropped her hand and leaned back. Tris regretted every word and imagined him walking out the door. She was so sure she ruined it that she shut her eyes and waited for the door to slam.

"Wow." Four took in a deep breath.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it. Forget I said it. It's the pain, the drugs, something. I didn't mean it," Tris said.

He was trained to hear the fear in her voice. He hurt, but he had to give her the room she needed. It was hard to broaden his words outside of how he felt. "No. It's okay. If it's how you feel, then it's how you feel, and I should hear it. All of it."

"I mean, am I wrong to feel that way?"

"Um… No. If that's what you feel, then it's real to you. I guess, we haven't really taken the time — not the time we should have. We let it get too fast."

"Why do you want me to come back?" she whispered.

"Tris, what I want or why I want it doesn't really matter. As long as you're making the right decision for you, we'll figure us out one way or the other. Besides, I don't really matter at all, not in the long run."

His self-deprecation set her off. "Of course you matter, that's why it's unfair. You always give me these ultimatums like I'm the only one making choices. You just won't even consider the options."

"I considered them. I don't want to leave Dauntless."

Tris sighed. "I know. And if I do, then I'm the bitch that abandoned you. And you won't even recognize your part in this."

Four took another breath, and tried to keep his temper under control. He hated having words put in his mouth. "Okay…" He breathed in deep and counted. She needed more than just pain drops; she needed commitments.

"We should stop. You should leave before I ruin everything you ever liked about me. I'm ruining everything all over again already. I always ruin it." She was losing her composure, the tears floating up to her eyelids.

"We shouldn't stop. This is the hard stuff, right? It hurts sometimes, but we need to go through the hard stuff. And we need to do it before we make any decisions about us. So, uh…"

"It's rude. I'm rude. I'm forcing this on you. Why would you want this?" Tris continued to spiral.

"No... it's just... I'm a slower thinker than you. Let me think…" Tobias took some breaths and squeezed his eyes shut then back open, trying to sort through the barrage of emotions and find the truth underneath. He had done this with Melissa, and he tried to convince himself that he could do it with Tris, too. "Okay, first: you're right. I'm not taking any risks. I haven't taken any since I came back to the city. So, after this time, if it doesn't work out, I'll consider leaving with you if that's what you want me to do."

"Really?" She didn't even try to hide her doubt. Offering the same thing, again, didn't move her.

Tobias let out a heavy breath. "Yeah, really. If being Dauntless isn't good for you, it won't be good for me, either."

"You'd leave? For me?"

"I mean, yeah. If you join Dauntless as a full member — give it a real chance and it doesn't work out — then yeah, I'll leave."

"Uh, huh. Sure. If you say so." Tris dismissed his statements with a shrug of her eyebrows and a slight roll of her eyes.

"Look, I've thought about this. I'm not taking this lightly at all. I even talked about it with a couple people. I thought that if enough people said I should just leave with you now, I'd be okay with it. But it didn't work. It's hard to admit — well, shit, it's actually not hard for me to admit. It's a fact: I don't want to leave Dauntless."

Tris's nostrils flared. "See? How am I—"

"Wait, let me finish. I don't want to right now with how things are between us, with the faction, with the factionless. But if the situation was different, I could leave. And so… when I say I would leave, I mean it. But it's a last resort for me," he declared with a nod.

Tris let out an exasperated sigh and looked at the door. She nibbled on her lip to keep herself from shouting at him to leave. The nausea had started to subside and she could drop her hands from her neck. At least that helped soothe some of her irritation.

Tobias tried to pick his words to reduce the obvious confusion and hurt Tris was encountering. "Let me try to explain it better. I know I'm not all Dauntless. I don't belong there one-hundred percent. I never have, just like you never have, and neither one of us ever will." He dropped his gaze, still reluctant to expose the selfish reasons behind his stubborn determination to stay in Dauntless.

"But... for the first time in my life, I feel like I actually have some kind of family. It probably doesn't seem like it to someone like you. I mean, you had a real family, a great family. The Pedrads… Hana's whole family... they've all been so good to me. They forgave me for what I did, the role I played with Uriah. And they didn't just forgive me, Tris. They brought me in." Tobias looked back up at her. His hand rubbed the back of his neck and his fingers lingered on the snake behind his ear. "They're the only people that have never given up on me even though they had every reason to. And I also have Lauren and Raf there. And I have Amar and George, too. I know I wasn't that close to them before, but I'm close to them now. So, maybe Dauntless isn't perfect, and maybe it isn't really my true faction, but it's where my family lives. And leaving them… I... well, it's a hard thing to give up when I'm just now realizing I have it."

Tris took his hand back up, and gave him a squeeze of support and a smile. She knew her actions were right, but she also knew she wasn't feeling what she should have been. She should have been angry or upset, but she felt numb and conciliatory. "Tobias, family is an amazing gift. And you're right, you shouldn't have to give that up. It's stupid of me to expect you to."

His stomach churned, but it was easier to talk about things once he'd started, and he had to get it all out. "Well, Tris, that's the thing. I want you to be part of it."

Tris's head turned just slightly in anxious confusion. "Part of what? The Pedrads?"

"Don't, uh… it's sort of a new thought for me and I won't lie, it scares me… I only just started considering it in the last couple days. Lauren brought it up, but Melissa's said it before, too. And if I've learned anything, it's that when two people are throwing out the same idea, it's worth considering. So I'm not sure if it's the right way to think about it. I mean, it feels right. But..." Tobias stalled and tried to think of a way to say the next part.

"What is it?" Tris finally asked. Her patience was wearing thin and his entire delivery was starting to feel evasive.

"Um...well, I reframed the problem — the situation, I guess — and I know that I want you to be my family, too. And if we were Abnegation... That's how I've been thinking about this because we have that upbringing in common, and it's what feels the most normal to me." He pulled on her hand to make her look him dead in the eye as he struggled. "If we had gotten together in Abnegation, and no one murdered us last summer, we'd probably be married, or close to it by now. And if we were, I would… I know I wouldn't question following my wife wherever she needed to go. And I don't see why that shouldn't be true for us, even if it means giving up the rest of my family."

It was Tris's turn to blink and struggle. Her brows furrowed. "But, we're not Abnegation, and we're not married."

"No, we're not. Not right now, anyways."

"Tobias..." Tris got quiet and swallowed hard.

"What?"

"We just talked about how we went too fast. How we don't know each other well enough. You really wanna throw Abnegation rituals into this?"

He tried to cover his disappointment with her reaction, but he also recognized the truth behind her words. "I know, I know. Which is why I said we're not there yet, but it's something to work on… errr, towards. If you're coming back to Dauntless for reasons other than me, then we have a chance to work on that together." He kissed her hand, still hopeful to get a better reaction. "I just want you to know why I'd consider leaving with you in the future if you need to go. It's not just false words to get you to stay or to try one more time. It's how I feel about you and what I want with you, eventually. When you think we're ready. When we are ready."

Tris's first instinct was to say nothing, but saying nothing was uncomfortable. At least she was thinking fast enough not to say 'thank you' because that was the first set of awkward words that came to mind. Yet, she couldn't come up with any other words. She settled on squeezing his hand and nodding in assurance.

"I guess there's worse ways to think about the situation. I mean, I am coming back. We can see where things take us."

"That's all I'm asking. You're coming back for you, but we work on things we gotta work on. You give Dauntless a shot, and we keep talking about if you're in the right place. And if you're not, we leave. Together." Tris nodded and smirked. Tobias gave her a lopsided grin. "Maybe that's a better place to stop and put the hard stuff away? When we're not mad." He kissed her hand again and she smiled back, still shocked and more than worn through by their talk. "You look pretty tired. Why don't you take advantage of those drops and get some sleep? We can talk more later." He offered her the out, and himself a break from confronting anything else.

"Yeah, I guess I should." She was also eager to move away from difficult topics. And getting him to move back a little and give her more fresh air was also a welcome side effect.

It took her fifteen minutes of nodding off and waking back up before she was asleep. Tobias put an arm on her bed and rested his face on it, falling asleep in a position he knew would stiffen his back and shoulders, but he didn't care. He felt more hopeful than he had since her injury.

Tobias woke up when Tris's fingers passed around his ear and to the back of his neck. He smiled at the affection, turning to kiss her hand and work his lips up her forearm until he heard the nurse clear her throat.

"Easy, lovebirds. I've got vitals to take and you don't want her heart rate up at two-hundred."

Tobias pulled back and moved out of the way. He clutched the foot rail of the bed and watched every move the nurse made with unfounded suspicion. She started by checking and then changing the IV by the bedside. She took Tris's temperature and looked concerned. She made some notes on the computer and checked Tris's blood pressure and then asked some questions.

"How would you rate your pain?"

"I guess like a two."

"A two?" She checked the computer again: scrolled, typed, scrolled, sighed, and then turned to Tris. "When was your last dose for pain? No one changed your refusal note, so I need a time. Or at least the hour."

"Um, I took some drops about…" Tris looked at the clock, then at Tobias, and estimated, "I don't know three? Four? Maybe five hours ago."

"Drops?"

"Yeah, they came from Amity…" Tris pointed at the dropper bottle and then picked it up off the little side table to show her better.

"You what?" The nurse was aghast. She snatched it from Tris's hand and started for the door.

"What are you doing? Give it here," Four stood in her way.

"This is not medicine. This is nothing more than herbs and water. It's a fake. This could do some real damage!"

"I didn't walk all night for you to toss out the only thing she's gonna take. Look at her! She's barely in pain at all. She's not faking that. Give it here," he demanded. She refused. He grabbed the woman's wrist and started to compress the bones of her arm together until she dropped it in his hand, then he released her. She retreated, gaping and rubbing her arm.

"I will be telling the doctors. They are not going to be happy." She jutted forward and snatched her equipment, trotting out the door without another word.

"You shouldn't have done that." Tris shook her head and adjusted the covers.

"Forget her. The drops worked, right? I'm not gonna watch you hurt like you were just to please some fucking Nose."

"Tobias, this is their hospital. They'll hold me here longer or something," Tris moaned.

"It might be their hospital, but it's not a prison. They can't hold you, Tris. If you want to, you can leave right now."

Tris deflated and slumped. "They'll stop me. They know it's Caleb that's supposed to be coming. They take rules super serious."

"Then we can stay. I'll keep you company, fend off the nurses, and block the doctors. That's always an option. Or, if you want to leave, I will get you home. Don't worry about that. I've been through these hallways before, I know where the exits are." He let a cocky smirk pull up the right corner of his mouth. He twitched up his left eyebrow looking for her lead.

She twisted her lips and contemplated the options. Tris reached for him and squeezed his hand to pull him closer. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

**There's a few new readers that have joined the fold, a guest that seemed anxious about updates. This fic updates every 4-6 weeks. Rarely, but occasionally, I manage 2 weeks or 3 weeks. Hold tight. Even if it's been 1 week, 2 weeks, 3 weeks, 4 weeks an update is coming. And you can always PM me or hit me with an ask on my Tumblr (see profile). If I don't respond inside of 3 days, assume I'm dead.**

**I thrive off of interactions with readers just like YOU, please review.**


	46. CH46: Piecing It Together

**Thank you everyone that paused and reviewed the last chapter. I'm proud to report that I failed to complete NaNoWriMo's 50K goal, but I did hand write around 41K words. It is by no means a masterpiece but I think I can whip it into shape one day. So now we're in December and this will be the last update till next year. Be well, be merry, and be kind.**

**Many thanks to BK2U and Milner for their excellent beta skills.**

* * *

Four looked at the bag hanging for her IV. It had been a while since he'd done his first aid training, and it was nowhere near as in depth as what the patrol leaders had gotten. He took a deep breath and tried to approach it logically; the first step was to find the ingredients list. "This is just saline," he commented. "They don't have an infuser here, so it's only for hydration. I can take the IV out."

"You can?"

"Out is easy, you just pull and hold pressure. Getting it in, well, don't ever ask me to do that." Tobias followed the line to her arm, then pointed at the device on her finger. "That may be an issue. When we disconnect this, it could sound an alarm or something. Let's try and get you dressed first, if we can, so it's the last thing."

"Oh, yeah. Clothes." Tris cringed and lifted up the blanket; she wasn't even wearing underwear. "I came in wearing clothes. Christina took them. If they're not here, then I'm not walking home in a tarp."

Four started opening drawers and cabinets, tugging on locked drawers one by one. He turned and evaluated the room for more options. He grinned, reached under her bed, and dropped a sack on top of the mattress at her feet. He pulled out her shirt, her pants, and the bulky black jacket he'd given her.

He paused and set it on the bed. "You brought this? It's, like, 70 degrees out."

"Yeah. It was the next best thing to..." She hesitated to finish her thought out loud. She didn't want to hurt him, even though it would be easy.

He watched her gaze fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't with you." His hand circled her calf and squeezed a little.

"I know. It's my fault. I wasn't being easy on you." She pulled the bag towards her and picked out her underwear.

He stopped her, pulling on her chin so she'd look at him. "It's not your fault. I'm really sorry I haven't been here for you. I should have been here."

"You're here now." She grabbed the shirt as Tobias seemed to still be frozen. She smiled and prodded him. "Let's pretend the clock's ticking and an angry nurse and doctor could be here any minute."

"Right, um… I guess get the shirt over your head, then your arm. So it's ready when you're untethered." He started for the strings on her shoulders, the only thing that kept the tarp together and on her body.

"Let's start with underwear," Tris squeaked. Tobias passed the ball of cotton to her like it was on fire, and turned to give her some privacy. "Um…Tobias? I need help. I can't do it one-handed, and it hurts to bend. The tape…"

She gestured awkwardly as he took her panties. He spun them to find the front and stretched them out with both hands. Tris pushed his hands down, then pushed him to his knee in front of her. She got one foot in, then the other.

He was staring off to the side the entire time, running through the last change list for the database code in his head — it provided a flimsy distraction at best. Tris slid off the bed and wiggled her hips while he pulled them up.

"This must be super sexy…" Tris joked.

"I'm not going to complain."

"Help me back up? We can do the same thing with the pants." He complied. She slid into her pants with the same wiggle.

He lifted her back onto the bed one more time so he could get her socks on and tie her shoes, while she worked the little ties at her shoulder. At first, he tried not to look, but just from his peripheral vision it was easy to see that the bandages covered most of her torso. He gathered the cloth of her shirt and stretched the neck over her head. "Remember, there's no rush. Even if there's a red flashing light and a blaring alarm, there's no reason to bolt out of here. Take it as slow as you need to."

"Okay."

"You sure you're ready? We can stay here until you feel strong enough."

"Better do it while the drops are working and before they bring lunch. You do not want the food here." She thrust her arm at him. "Do it."

He made a bandage with a piece of gauze and tape, and peeled back the layers holding the tube to her arm. He pulled his lips between his teeth and held his breath while he removed the IV, pressing down tightly to secure the tape and stanch the flow with one hand.

"Next, the sensor and the shirt. But then keep pressure on this, alright?" She nodded. "Ready?" She nodded again. Tobias unclipped the monitor from her finger, helped get her arm in the sleeve, and got her back onto her feet. He folded her jacket over his arm, and held the door for her.

"I can't believe we're doing this." Tris laughed. The monitor sounded an alarm behind them. She clung to his arm and moved slowly at first, feeling out what walking would mean to her shoulder. The grumpy nurse that confronted them earlier started towards them, a doctor in tow.

"She hasn't been released yet!" Her shrill voice called the attention of everyone else behind her.

"And yet, we're leaving." Tobias prepared to physically interfere.

"Tris, wait." The doctor started to walk with them. "I don't have your papers printed."

"I've done this before." Tris kept walking, slow but steady.

"She wants to leave." Four pushed the doctor to the side and got between him and Tris.

"Tris, it's okay that you want to leave, really, but let me just talk with you about the next few days, okay?" The doctor refused to even look at Four. He tried to switch to the other side, but Four moved behind Tris to block him again.

"She said she's got it."

"Tris, there's some wound care things I want to remind you of, and some issues with the Amity painkiller you should be aware of. I just want to talk. Ten minutes, max."

Tris slowed and relented. "Okay. But I'm not staying."

"That's your decision." The doctor switched sides again and this time Four didn't get between them. The doctor took Tris's arm and led her to a padded bench in the hallway. "We talked about the pain management. There are options that aren't really that addictive and would be safer than the Amity concoction."

"It works," Four challenged.

The doctor finally looked at him. There was no mistaking it, he was annoyed. "They make it from willow bushes. It's basically an herbal aspirin. It thins the blood and can prevent clotting, which means it could keep her incision from closing. It could get infected more easily, scar more prominently, and possibly extend the wound closure time by weeks. All this would delay rehab and could land her right back here with pneumonia, because an open wound leaves her vulnerable to other infections." He turned to Tris, satisfied with scolding Four. "Please, consider taking one of these instead."

Four raised an eyebrow and felt a guilty panic course through him. The doctor held out a bottle, but Tris wouldn't take it.

"I can't. I won't risk it."

"I know what they say over in those Candor group meetings, but not all drugs are the same. If you use them for their intended purpose, they're not a risk. So, just take these and try them. You shouldn't take any more of the Amity drops for at least a week. Not while the surgical site is still healing. Once the skin's not scabby, you can take whatever you want. That stuff is fine for controlling the muscle pain from rehab."

Tris pointed at Four. The doctor passed him the bottle.

"Also, remember: you can get the stitches wet, but don't submerge them. Short showers only, or sponge bathe the area. They'll absorb into your body in about a week's time. If it gets red, if you get a fever, if there's a cloudy discharge or a bad smell, it's infected. See someone immediately. Without your spleen, you're at an increased risk of infections like pneumonia, meningitis, yada, yada. You got me?"

"Yeah. I got ya." Tris acknowledged him with a nod of her head and a half smile.

"And, if there's a next time, you just have to ask to be discharged. Okay?"

"Doubt it. You'd be arguing me back to my room right now if I was alone."

"Maybe." The doctor smirked before getting up and finally addressing Four. "These really are mild, basic painkillers. Very low rates of addiction or side effects. Get her to take one of these instead. Kudos for the idea, but you should be more careful."

"Someone had to do something." The doctor didn't respond. "You ready to walk?" Four helped her up and finished their trip through the Erudite compound.

His posture changed when they hit the street and it was obvious no one was coming after them. His concern flooded his face, his shoulders turned into her. "Are you okay? You've been slowing down."

"It's starting to hurt… and I'm a little lightheaded," she admitted. She leaned into him for support, but his usual scent was overrun by his all-night escapade. She pushed off of him and tried to breathe through her mouth.

"Here, sit." He pulled her towards a ledge that protruded from the building. He glanced at his watch and pulled out the bottle of pills. "Take one of these."

"No, but I'll take more drops."

"Tris, should you be taking that risk?"

"Two doses isn't going to kill me," she snapped, then took a breath and changed her tone. "I just need to get back home and then I'll be fine. I can get through it if I can just get home."

Reluctantly, Four handed her the dropper and watched the liquid meld into her tongue. He stayed crouched over next to her, watching like she might keel over. But she stood after a few minutes and moved a little more easily down the street and to her apartment building.

He'd forgotten how small her elevator carriage was. He leaned against the back wall, his arm fully extended to remind himself of the space. Tris hit the button for her floor and pressed her bare arm into the metal; the cool wall settled her stomach a little. While he focused on his breathing, she focused on hers.

The ding for her floor, coupled with the opening of the elevator door, cued his instant relaxation; she tensed in preparation to walk the last dozen feet to her door. He looped his arm around her back and pulled up and in on her right elbow. The smell of sweat and dirt played in her nostrils.

"Keys?" she asked, pointing at her jacket still over his arm. He fished in her pockets and unlocked the door. "Thanks."

"Sit down. I'll get you some water." Tris was relieved when he separated from her and her nose could clear. He dug through her cabinets without asking for help, and soon she had a glass of water and the bottle of pills in front of her. He quickly dove back into her cabinets and started a tea kettle before pulling things from her fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"You said they needed to bring lunch still. It's pretty late. You must be starving."

"I'm okay. I haven't been hungry. You should probably head back, right? Don't you have a shift?" She tested his convictions — was it always Dauntless first, or was it mostly Dauntless first. The latter she could deal with.

"Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving you alone." He continued lining up ingredients on her counter.

Tris's cheeks warmed and her lips pulled into a small smile. She sipped her water and steeped in the reversal of her situation. She swished; the sour, bitter notes of the drops still lingered on her tongue, and she felt oddly comforted. Just the day before, she'd been upset and angry, and also confused and reticent. His words were just words and they felt empty. But being cared for in the familiar way her mother or father would have done — his actions were much larger than words.

When the pot was set and all the ingredients were simmering towards broth, Four paused to wipe his brow and wash his hands one last time. He snatched the kettle and two cups and set them on the table before retreating to find tea.

"To your right," Tris helped.

When he sat down next to her, she leaned away. His hand reached for hers, but she hesitated. Her stomach churned. His face fell and he shifted back to give her more space.

"Do you want me to run you a bath? Or would you rather wait for Christina? If you want me to leave and go get her when Caleb gets here, I can."

"Um… Tobias. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but you do not smell good. I'd rather you took the bath."

Tobias paused, lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and took a quick sniff. "It's not that bad."

She hovered her nose above the rim of the cup. "It's bad. Or maybe it's still the side effects from the anesthesia making it worse… but it's bad."

"I smell bad?"

"Very bad. There's towels in the bathroom, under the sink. And if you give me your clothes, I can put them in the wash."

"What am I gonna wear? And I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

"You are not taking care of anyone smelling like that. My stomach can't take it. I already spent all morning being sick. Caleb will have something. Anything will be better." Her mouth started filling with saliva — she knew what came next. "I'll check his closet for something that might fit." She stood and moved as quickly as she could away from him, taking measured, deep breaths of fresher air.

"I'll just wait for Caleb and then I'll go back to Dauntless and change and I'll come back with Christina."

Tris shook her head. "Caleb will probably go to the hospital first then come home. He could be really late. You can't stay and smell like that."

He took a breath and smelled himself again.

"Just wash up a little. It won't take long," she insisted. Tris followed him to the bathroom; he did a double take over his shoulder. She leaned on her right shoulder in the doorway.

"Uh... you said the towels were under the counter, right? I think I've got it from here." Her smirk made him blush. "Slow and steady, huh?"

"I really need to put your clothes in the washing machine." She cast her eyes down just long enough for him to start to move.

His first step was removing his shoulder harness and checking his gun to make sure the safety was on. He hung it on a hook next to the bathroom door. He pulled his shirt up over his head and hesitated before he placed it in her outstretched hand. He sighed and peeled off his tank top–the primary offending garment. Tris tossed his shirt up so it draped over her arm and pinched the tank top between her fingers. She waited for his pants. Instead, she got a handful of items: two knives, a pen, his keys and belt, and the plastic bag of crumbs. She stashed them on the kitchen table. He passed her his pants and let her eyes pass over his unguarded body.

"Those, too."

Having her wash his underwear was too exposing and intimate — as if his apparent stench wasn't embarrassing enough.

"Oh, no. I'm keeping my shorts." He pulled out a towel and wound it around his waist, locking them to him.

"Come on, Tobias, give 'em up. There's washcloths in there, too. You get seven minutes of hot water to shower. These can be done in an hour. I'll just do a soak and a rinse cycle. They won't be super clean, but maybe they won't be so offensive, either."

Tris felt more powerful than any other point in her entire life watching him finish stripping down for her.

"Hurry, I can't take this." She gagged a little.

"Give me those." He pulled his clothes back, added his underwear and held his towel with one hand. He followed her to the kitchen and pushed his clothes into the washer. He stirred the pot quickly and turned the heat off. "It's probably ready, just let it cool." He hoped the soup would be a distraction as he walked away, but he felt her eyes on his back.

She approached Caleb's door and paused outside of the bathroom to listen to the water running off of Tobias and falling in collected thuds against the tub. She felt so warm and tingly imagining him in the shower that she wondered if the pain drops had peace serum in them.

Tris blinked a few times before she continued her cautious steps into Caleb's room. She opened his top drawer, drawing it out slowly, anxious to not make any noise. When she let the little handle drop and heard it tap, she froze and reminded herself that she was alone. After that realization, she made a point to rummage with a reckless purpose.

She gasped, murmured an "Oh, my", and stalled. Condoms and an old Merciless Mart lingerie ad were tucked under a t-shirt. Tris rationalized the findings with herself: he was a healthy, teenage boy. This was normal. But he'd never brought anyone home, never even told her about dates or friends. Really, he'd never told her much about his life outside of work and their apartment.

She opened the next drawer and snatched pajama pants to add to the soft, worn shirt, and clutched them and a sweater against her body. She used her knee to shut the drawer; the books on top teetered as the chest settled. She was out the door before they stopped shaking. She took a breath and popped the door to the bathroom open so she could set the clothes in a pile on the counter by the sink.

The smell emanating from the pot reminded her that she hadn't really eaten anything in over a day. Her stomach rumbled. One-handed, she struggled to ladle a bowl of soup; she found it hard to get comfortable at the table. The ache was returning in slow pulses that promised to deepen and spread.

She took deep breaths and inhaled the aroma of the soup. It was the first truly quiet and solitary moment she'd had in a while. During her sleepless night, she had plotted all of her next steps, only she did so without Tobias in mind. She lifted spoonful after spoonful, mechanically giving herself sustenance while she waded through a plethora of 'what ifs'.

First, she'd have to actually leave Caleb. That reality had never been confronted, although they had talked about it. He needed to figure out his own life. Undoubtedly, he'd be relieved that he wouldn't have to take care of her, but as much as he was responsible for looking after her, she also looked after him. Family —Tris — seemed to have gained more importance in his life. Although, the apparent relationships he'd hidden emphasized how little she knew about how he actually felt. Regardless, he had been there for her ever since they came back from the Bureau, and moving felt like she was abandoning him. She wondered if it was possible to abandon someone even if you had their permission.

Tobias exited her bathroom wearing a towel like a cape to keep warm. He checked the pot on the stove, ladled a small bowl for himself and poured some tea. She barely noticed him through the rapid string of thoughts that flitted in and out unanswered.

Where would she live? Would Christina still insist she take the bedroom she'd already been using, even though Christina and Tobias weren't on the best terms? How uncomfortable would that get? What if they fought? What if Christina teased them and Tobias snapped back? What if Tobias started the fight? Would she have to take sides? What if Christina felt rejected?

She pushed past the drama to the much more serious question: how long would it take for her shoulder to be okay enough to make the other Dauntless accept her? Was it even a limitation? Why didn't Shauna ever want to go out? Why didn't she see many injured people in the training room? She'd have to rehab and hope she didn't reinjure herself. Even if she got an exception plan, there'd come a time when they'd want her back to the standard routine. What if she couldn't do it and had to pack her bags and leave? Would Tobias really follow her?

"What's on your mind?" Tobias interrupted her. He pulled a chair up next to hers and pulled her foot into his lap.

"Umm, nothing." Seeing him shirtless was still new enough to draw furtive glances. She followed a water droplet that skimmed down his chest and onto the first divot of his abs with pensive focus.

"Something," he prodded, pulling at the laces of her shoe.

"I thought I left a shirt in there. I meant to grab one."

"Yeah, you did. My arms were too big; I didn't want to tear the sleeves. So, what are you thinking about?"

The comment alone was enough to fix her eyes on his arms. Of course his arms were much bigger than Caleb's. Unnaturally bigger, because he worked at it. "I just… I had planned everything out over the last few days, but now all that's changed. And… I'm trying to think about what I'm supposed to do next."

"I think you should probably take a bath and then get some sleep. I kept it shallow, but the water's nice and hot."

"You know what I mean. How is this gonna work? You and Christina aren't getting along. And what about Caleb? Am I gonna just not see him? And this is where I usually screw everything up in some way. You know… like ripping my shoulder apart or saying something horrible."

"Not this time. It'll be different this time." He set her shoes side by side on the floor and pulled her up to standing.

"But, how do you know that?" She let him push her towards the bathroom.

Tobias pulled out a fresh towel from the cabinet and a washcloth. He set both on the counter. "Well, it's not going to be like it was before. I was letting you do all the work because… I guess I figured you broke it, so you were the one that had to fix it. But now, we've both broken this thing a few times. And this last time was my fault, not yours. It's time we actually fix this. Together. And that's definitely different. And if we try something new, we should get something different."

"But, what if we don't?"

"Tris, I promise you, I will keep trying five breaths after you quit. And if you never quit on us, then we'll make it work. But right now, you should get in the tub and relax. We can talk more tomorrow and the next day and every day." Tris nodded and took a breath. Tobias evaluated her and waited for her to move, but she stayed still. "Do you need help? Or, if you want, I can give you some space and just wait in the living room."

"Um… I..."

A bath meant everything would come off, even the wraps around her chest and shoulder. She'd be more than naked, there was no way to allow him to help and not force him to face the fresh wound and vivid reminder. He took her hesitation to be her preparing. Tobias pushed the door shut to hold the heat in. He carefully started to pull her shirt over her head. Tris swallowed hard before grabbing it from his hands and holding on to the hem with a fast apology. "I'm sorry. Maybe I should just… you don't have to… I can manage."

"Tris, we've been through this before. Why does this still bother you?" Tobias opened a towel and set it on the edge of the tub. He pushed her lightly until they were both sitting.

"I can get it," Tris insisted.

"Tris, there's a couple layers and definitely some tape holding on that bandage. I don't think you're getting it on your own. So, let me help."

"I can bathe tomorrow, when Christina's here."

Tobias was baffled. "Why? I'm not squeamish."

"Because…"

"Come on, do better than that."

Tris sighed and wiped her palm. "Because, I'm all cut up. And all I can think about is what you'll think about when you see it. And it's just too soon to ask you to do that."

"Uh… okay. What do you think I think about?" He turned it back on her.

While she wanted to stay silent, she knew he wasn't going to let it drop. Her long inhale lifted her shoulders and steadied her gaze. She examined his face: his arched eyebrow and his sullen smile meant to comfort her.

"About how I broke my promise. I betrayed your trust in the worst way possible, and the evidence is all over my body. I left you. And I can't help but think that things would be so much simpler if you'd been free to move on, if I never woke—"

"Don't." Tobias struggled to identify what he felt: Anger. Confusion. Hurt. Panicked, crushing claustrophobia.

"Think about it. I mean, you hated me for going instead of Caleb. You'd have been sad, but in the end it would—"

"Stop. Don't ever, ever talk like that." He was shocked. He felt raw and torn. He remembered how his lungs ached and his teeth hurt he ran so hard through the Bureau to the hospital wing. "You will never know what it felt like. I watched you die for five days. But I never once gave up."

"I'm sorry." Tris grabbed his hand; he struggled to keep his composure. "I'm sorry I did that to you."

"Tris… you didn't do it to me. It just happened."

"Because I broke my promise."

"You saved your brother. You saved everyone." Tobias started to reverently rub her hand. "And that's not what I think about. Not at all. You came back to me. You have those scars because you didn't give up. You came back."

"Tobias, I sent you away. I—"

"Didn't anyone tell you that it was my voice?"

"What?"

"On the last day. When Caleb was about to give in to the doctors and let you go, they hooked you up to that brain scan thing. And when I was talking to the tech, you came alive. You came back. And, you came back for me. My voice, more than anyone else's, is what got your brain ticking. Maybe I'm conceited, but I know you came back for me."

"I never wanted to leave you in the first place."

She couldn't hold it in when she noticed the tears sliding from the corner of his eye onto the rim. She pulled him as tightly as she could with one arm before she had to see it fall. Tobias started to feel silly, holding her the way he was with her arm tied to her body and hunched knee to knee on the tub wall.

He sighed, kissed her cheek, and stood to segue her back into taking a bath while the water was still hot. Tris rose with him and caught his chin with her hand and kissed him. He wasn't prepared for what he felt. He felt frantic, but then calm and close. He felt resigned in the best way to whatever happened next.

"I love you."

She said it first. She'd avoided it for months because she didn't think he'd say it, too, but it came quickly and smoothly off his lips. He kissed her again, more eager and full until her arm pushed on his chest so she could catch her breath and get a solid hug that lasted longer than friends and, again, shorter than she really wanted.

She smirked and tapped her fingers against his chest. "So, I guess you can help me get this bandage off…"

He laughed a little during a long exhale, and moved back an inch or two. He turned her around, pulled up her shirt, and then started pulling on the tape. He touched her more than he needed to, but not as much as he wanted to.

Tris kept the shirt in her fist, clenching it tightly with the sharp pangs. The loosening of the outer bandage caught her off guard — her left arm dropped, and she gasped and panted. Tobias wrapped his arms around her and held her through the surge of pain, then helped her get her arm in a position she could hold. After that, she grimaced at every subtle movement. The weight of her arm stressed every connection with the implant. Tobias hesitated when she hissed again, and finally stopped when a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Take a second." He eyed the layers of gauze, soaked with blood: red in the center and brown at the edge. "Should we wait till tomorrow?"

"No, just do it. We're already this far."

"I… I'm hurting you."

"It's loose now! It's gonna hurt. And it'll hurt tomorrow, too," she scolded before taking a deep breath and readying herself.

Tobias pried at the corner of a piece of tape and pulled, Tris inhaled and held her breath, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her elbow. He froze. "Wait, we should—"

"Do it!" He didn't. She groaned and gulped air. "Now's not the time to be a pansy, Tobias."

"I just don't like hurting you."

"You're not. I'm already hurt. For God's sake, just do it so I can be done."

He took a breath and started again. The stitches were interwoven into the gauze, but he was relieved to find that the red wasn't actually blood. It was a thick paste that sealed the wound and colored the cloth. The outer brown was some other substance. Once exposed, his nose was assaulted by the medical scent he remembered from his own surgery at the Bureau.

Every squeak that escaped and shudder made his fingers twitch and move faster, determined to finish quickly. The bandage finally fell away, and Tris panted on the edge of the tub.

"Are you okay?" She glared up at him and took a deep breath. "Do you need a pill?" She shook her head no. "You should take one, just try it." She rolled her eyes and held her tongue. She shivered and attempted to hold her shoulder and grab a towel, but she couldn't. She hated that she couldn't do anything on her own.

"Help me with the towel?" Tobias's tongue shot out and flicked at his lips; his eyes crawled down her body before he caught himself and focused on her face. He let her move her arm while he encircled the towel back around her back and under her arms. "And, can you get the button on my pants?" she huffed.

There were too many memories of undoing buttons. He couldn't stop the thoughts or the feelings and the uncomfortable constriction of being stuck down one pant leg. He shifted, trying to get things to rearrange without being obvious, but Tris's confusion shifted to sudden realization.

"Uh, Tobias… I…uh…it's not gonna happen. There's no way." She pulled back from him a little.

"I didn't say it was! It's not like I can always help it. I swear, it's got its wires crossed," he defended, giving up the ghost and making the adjustments quickly.

"Just, help me get undressed, okay?"

Her face matched his shade for shade, and while there wasn't any part of her that wanted to be sexy, a large part of her was happy to be found appealing even in the most bizarre situations. She gripped the towel extra tight when her pants hit the floor and his hands went searching for the elastic of her underwear. She glanced between him and the door and raised an eyebrow in warning.

"You okay? You can get in by yourself?"

"Yep," she said shortly and waited for him to back out the door before she let the towel drop.

Tobias almost jumped out of his skin when Caleb set the ladle down in a clatter on the counter. "Did you make this?"

"Oh my God! When did you get here?"

"So, I guess you guys have kissed and made up? Why are you wearing my pants? And where are your clothes? And… good grief, she's hurt, you know. Do you have any sense of decency?" Caleb accused him.

"Well, first, my clothes were dirty! I swear, I just helped her… she needed a hand with her bandage, and…"

"And pants?" Caleb crossed his arms. Tobias started feeling silly for even offering an explanation. He cupped his hands together to cover himself and started retreating to Tris's bedroom.

"If she wants my help, and I don't hear her, let me know."

"Wait a second. We need to talk."

"What about?" Four squared up to him.

"About where you've been?"

"It's none of your business, Caleb," he warned.

"She's my sister. She is my business."

Every time Tobias and Caleb had interacted, Caleb had shown some sense of self-preservation. He'd cowered or ducked or rambled to reduce the effect of his statements. But somewhere along the way, he'd developed a much greater appreciation for his sister, and he wasn't wavering in his posture or his tone.

"She's an adult—"

"No, she's not. She's my dependent. I'm responsible for her well-being. And the last few days have not been easy. So, you better tell me why you haven't been here and why I should let you stay."

Tobias wasn't sure how to handle a self-possessed Caleb. "I…she…uhh. I wanted to be here that first day, but Christina said I shouldn't, and then, you know, we had that fight. I…I'm sorry. I should have been here. I'm here now. I'm not leaving. I'm not ever leaving."

"Yeah, well, if you do, don't come back." Caleb stared him down as he receded into Tris's bedroom.

Tobias shivered and rubbed at his bare arms. Asking Caleb for a shirt now was out of the question. He took his time perusing Tris's pile of books on her dresser. At first he was too angry and confused by Caleb to really read the titles, but it only took two books for him to figure out they came from the Bureau.

The book of world history had "St. Joseph High School" stamped inside the worn and ancient cover. The year inside, if the dates on the outside had been continuous, made it a relic over two hundred years old. He carefully turned to a map. It looked like the same map they'd shown him at the Bureau, only the colors were different and it was hard to remember if the land masses looked the same.

The first section was titled, "Babylon and the Fertile Crescent". He started skimming the pages, then reading them in full, then rereading passages and flipping to the index to try and cross-reference some of the places, people, and subjects. He felt smaller and more insignificant after every page turn, but he didn't stop until she called his name from behind the closed bathroom door. He shut the book, wishing he'd never opened it.

* * *

Caleb was used to watching someone else care for his sister — he'd watched Christina do it for months. But he wasn't used to the feeling that Tris wasn't getting the best care. Tobias didn't know that Tris liked peppermint tea when her stomach was upset. He didn't know where they kept the wash bucket. He didn't know that Tris would likely feel sick for another eight to twelve hours, or that the worst hadn't even hit yet — Tris always had a drawn out reaction to anesthesia. Caleb, of course, was willing to share all of that if he was asked. He stayed ready at the kitchen table, waiting for Tobias to get exasperated.

Tobias's presence and insistence that he wasn't leaving brought some specific concerns. Tris was stubborn. She was sometimes brash and confrontational. It would take a strong person to put up with it and a stronger person to set aside their feelings and brush it off. Caleb was certain Tobias wasn't that strong of a person. But, having a weakness, a flaw, wasn't something Caleb could hold against anyone, given his own past.

His specific issues with Tobias were seeded deep in his upbringing, because he knew Tobias was raised the same. Commitment meant marriage, and marriage took a strength of conviction that Tobias seemed to lack. He worried in a way he didn't know he could for what Dauntless would hold for his sister.

Tobias stepped out of the bathroom, a blanket and towels in hand. Caleb stood, ready to offer assistance. Tobias mechanically moved around the apartment. He retrieved his dry clothes and deposited the soiled linens into the washer, stepped back into Tris's room to change, then added Caleb's pants to the load and started the machine. Tris was quiet in the bathroom.

"Everything okay?" Caleb asked.

"Nope. She was fine earlier. She felt okay. But now… she doesn't have anything left to throw up, and yet she keeps trying."

"Yeah, it's always a rough day."

"Day? How long is this gonna last?"

"Probably 'til morning. Here, take her some tea. It can help and keeps her hydrated." Caleb had been heating and reheating the kettle the entire time, waiting for the opportunity. He poured the water over the peppermint and added a little sugar.

"I'm about to force feed her a pill, too," Tobias sighed.

"Uh, try the brace?"

"Brace?"

"Yeah, she has a brace to secure her arm. But, it presses pretty hard and sometimes it hurts more than it helps. She's not a fan."

Caleb was comfortable navigating Tris's room. He found the brace, a sling, and pulled out some fresh clothes for her. "This across her back, these straps around her middle, and these over her right shoulder. Then the sling. Maybe it'll help."

"Okay, thanks." Tobias shot back into the bathroom.

Tobias appeared again a while later; Caleb folded the page in his book.

"Caleb, do you guys have any crackers or some plain white bread?" Tobias asked, looking exhausted and exasperated. "Maybe if she gets something into her, it'll help calm her stomach."

"We don't."

"Can you get some?"

"Uh, no. We're out of credits and ration cards for the month, you know, after the surgery. What we have is what we have."

Tobias paused and cocked his head. "You're out of credits?"

"Well, yeah. We had to give Erudite credits to cover the surgery and the extra time in the room. And then to Candor to cover the sessions earlier this week."

"That's bullshit. Why would you have to pay credits for that?"

"Because, Tobias, we're factionless. We serve no purpose. We give nothing, we take everything. And so there's no courtesies extended to us like there are to your faction."

Tobias stared at him for a second and took in what he was saying. He knew better than most what it took to live factionless, he'd just never really put Tris and Caleb on the same level as Therese's collective. Tris started heaving, again.

"Okay, well, do you have any flour or baking stuff? At least I could make her some hard tack to chew on and maybe settle things. Or I can leave, I guess, and get her something. I have credits."

Tris coughed and sputtered, then moaned and cried. Tobias shifted and started towards her.

"Go, get something. It might help. I'll take care of her," Caleb assured. He expected Tobias to take the out and disappear, but he rushed back to Tris instead.

When she was done with her latest round of stomach cramps, she leaned back against the pillows Tobias had stacked against the wall and panted. Tobias gripped her hand and pushed her hair back. "I'm going to leave for a second and get you something to eat to calm things down. Okay?"

Tris nodded weakly. Caleb was quickly in Tobias's place. "So, I see you forgot to ask about the nausea medication."

"I won't take it. I'm an—"

"Addict, I know. But wouldn't it be worth the risk right now?"

"Water," Tris demanded, glaring at him. She sipped and hoped that whatever Tobias found would help.

"Are you okay with him being here?" Caleb checked the bucket and crinkled his nose.

"Yeah, of course I am."

"I mean, it's not entirely my business, but…"

"Caleb, he's here. Don't make me question that."

"I just want you to be careful. He hasn't been reliable or even that serious."

"He said he wants to get married."

Caleb snorted. Tris's eyes squinted harder, meaner, sterner. Caleb recoiled. "Sorry, but you can't be serious? You're going back to Abnegation?"

"I don't know, maybe we can get married and stay in Dauntless? Doesn't matter. He said he wanted to, eventually."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever he says. Like he knows anything about marriage."

"He knows, Caleb. And he's not gonna say things like that if he isn't serious."

Caleb had to let go of his reservations. He nodded and gave her a soft smile, handing her a fresh glass of water.

* * *

Christina had woken up later than she intended. She was sore and had a blister on her right heel that required a bandage. She'd been asked about Four when she got off patrol; it wasn't like him to not show up for work. She suggested and hoped he was with Tris. Harrison had looked more sour than usual, but didn't ask anything else. If he wasn't there, Caleb would be in dire need of some relief. She skipped her tea and hopped the first train into the city.

Caleb answered the door and then returned to his toast and tea at the table. His lunch was waiting in a sack on the counter; everything indicated that he was preparing to leave for work.

"Okay, fill me in." Christina set her stuff down.

"Uh, she stopped throwing up and fell asleep sometime late last night or early morning. And they've been asleep since then, as far as I can tell. They sent her home with pain pills, which she won't take, but hopefully the sleeping means that the pain is better."

"So, Four is here?"

"Yep."

"Okay, good. They were looking for him last night."

"He brought her home from the hospital and he's been taking care of her since."

"Really? Even the vomit?"

"Even the vomit. All the vomit," Caleb confirmed.

"Huh. Okay."

Christina pushed open Tris's door and nearly hit Tobias in the head. He was sprawled on the floor next to her bed using towels for blankets. He sniffed and stirred — she shut the door quickly.

"Why's he on the floor?"

"Dunno. Seems stupid to me. She'd probably trip on him if she had to puke again, but whatever. He has to figure this stuff out on his own, I guess."

"So, I guess this means we're getting replaced."

"We will see," Caleb reserved credit.

Tobias rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and then his arms. He squinted in the daylight and grumbled something unintelligible on his way to the bathroom. Christina poured herself tea and started more water.

"Any left?" Tobias grumbled, pointing at the pot.

"Take it. I heard you had a long night." She handed him her steeping cup.

"How can someone so small contain so much… stuff?"

"When she wakes up, she's not going to want to, but she needs to drink lots of water. I'll boil some eggs. Eggs helped get her energy back last time."

"She hates them." Caleb started on his last crust.

"Yeah, well, she's gonna eat them coated in ketchup if she has to."

"She hates ketchup, too."

"So, you guys talked?" Christina ignored Caleb. Tobias glanced at Tris's disinterested brother and nodded without elaborating. "She's gonna tell me anyways."

"Then you'll get it from her." Tobias blew on the cup to cool it.

"Look, are you taking this serious?" The last thing Christina wanted was to put her guard down and end up letting Tris fall apart.

"I'm here, aren't I?" He wasn't rested enough to be diplomatic.

"Sure, on day one. What about day two? Day fifty?"

"I'm here. I promised her — I'll promise you, too — I don't care if it gets bad or hard, I'm gonna stick right by her."

"You'd better. Or Four, I swear I will use everything I have ever learned to make your life hell."

"Christina, there is no reason to threaten anyone," Tris grumbled and pushed into the bathroom. Tobias heard the telltale noises of another round of vomit. He set the cup down, untouched, and followed her into the bathroom.

"If it means I never have to clean up puke, I will throw whatever threats I want," Christina snipped towards Caleb and took the mug.

Caleb tossed his napkin and claimed his lunch sack before scooting out the door. Christina started the eggs, drank tea on the couch and read from her captain's exam book while she waited to be called in to help. She looked up to watch Tobias guide Tris back to her room all on his own. He got her glass after glass of water, peeled and left with two eggs and didn't come back. Christina took a nap and still wasn't called in to help. She started to feel a little left out and approached the door.

Tobias was talking, his pace slow and rhythmic, and Christina leaned in closer.

"I was frequently rallied by the queen upon account of my fearfulness; and she used to ask me whether the people of my country were as great cowards as myself? The occasion was this: the kingdom is much pestered with flies in summer; and these odious insects, each of them as big as a Dunstable lark, hardly gave me any rest while I sat at dinner…" He stopped when she leaned too close and bumped the door.

Christina's face heated up. She hesitated, but pushed the door further and came in. "How's things?" she asked meekly.

Tobias set the book down, his finger wedged between the pages. Tris had her head on his leg and her healthy arm curled under and up. His hand was still in her hair. Tris was chewing her lip and controlling her pain with her breathing.

"Four, have you eaten?" Christina asked.

"I'm okay. Thanks for asking."

"You should eat," Tris commented, starting to shift.

"Stay." Tobias pushed on her arm, but she was already pushing his leg out of her way. He glared at Christina and helped.

"Go make yourself some food. I'll stay with her."

Christina pulled Tris up to sitting and positioned herself next to her. Tobias didn't leave until Tris nodded at him.

"Hey, you know you gotta make time for your girlfriends, too. It can't be Toby, Toby, Toby, all the time," Christina teased.

"If he heard that…"

"He'd murder me. I know. So, how's the pain?"

"It's getting better. As long as I don't move it and keep it in the brace, it hardly hurts. It's not like it was yesterday."

"How's the head?"

"Feels less wishy-washy."

"And the heart?" Tris smirked and looked down at her feet. She shrugged with her one good shoulder. "Looked pretty cozy."

"We talked."

"About Dauntless?"

Tris stood and peeked out to make sure Tobias was busy. She shut the door and leaned against it. "About a lot of stuff. About commitments and long term things."

"Long term things?" Christina raised an eyebrow.

"What did Amar say?" Tris swallowed and held her lip between her teeth.

"Uh, he said he got a plan approved for a guy with only one hand. He's pretty sure the same plan will work for you. So… does that mean?"

Tris nodded. "I'm coming back to Dauntless."

Christina squealed and jumped up from the bed; Tobias nearly knocked Tris over rushing in to check what the noise was. Christina caught her and took a scolding while Tris cringed and grimaced her way back to a tolerable pain level. Tris had to shout to get them to stop yelling over her.

"She was just excited, okay? You're not the only one that wants me back in Dauntless. And he's just trying to take care of me. Somehow you two have to figure this out, because I need both of you," Tris commanded.

Tobias fixed his jaw and shut his mouth. Christina crossed her arms. Tris excused herself to the bathroom so they could cool down without her scrutiny.

Christina stood and started for the door, but Tobias blocked her. "Get out of the way, I'll check on her," Christina demanded.

"No, you've done enough."

"Me? Yeah, you know what? I've done it all, for months. I can handle it from here." Christina attempted to shove him, but he was far too solid for her to move.

"Listen, I already got an inquisition from Caleb. I get it, you guys have put in a lot of effort and you don't want me to fuck this up. But I'm here and I'm not leaving, and sooner or later you have to let me take over."

"See, that's your problem. You think it's all about you and Tris. The two of you in your happily ever after fairytale. But it's a whole lot more than that. There isn't gonna be a "takeover". I'm not going anywhere. Caleb isn't gonna just disappear. Zeke's not gonna stop hugging her and Ro sure isn't gonna stop dancing with her. So you better step aside and figure out your place in this and then maybe you'll know how you're not gonna fuck this up."

Christina successfully pushed past him and into the bathroom, closing the door quietly. Tobias relaxed his shoulders and emptied his lungs. He wandered out to the kitchen. The kettle was lukewarm; he filled it and turned on the burner and started thinking of the right words to apologize to both of them.

Tris was laughing and smiling even though her eyes were red and puffy. Christina was behind her and pushed her forward like she was presenting a gift.

"See, he's still here. He's not a fragile little flower, he can take a bit of yelling. Can't you, Four?" Christina prompted.

"Tris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

"See? Now hug, kiss, make up. Okay?" Christina pushed her further towards Tobias, and he wrapped her up. Christina grabbed her romance novel and disappeared into Tris's bedroom.

"You didn't think I would leave, did you? I mean, a whole night of holding your hair didn't scare me off."

"I was horrible. And I don't have any excuse. I'm not in withdrawal. My shoulder hardly hurts. I was just horrible."

"No, you weren't. I overreacted and you got mad. That's fine. I'm gonna try not to fight with Christina." Tris scoffed a little and pressed her forehead into his chest.

"_Try_ is the operative word." He smirked.

* * *

Book: _Gulliver's Travels_ by Jonathan Swift

* * *

**Return the favor, and type out a review for this chapter. Thanks.**


	47. CH47: Adjustment

**Alpha magic: Milner. Beta beautifying: BK2U. Two ladies that are invaluable to me and this story.**

* * *

Tris tossed her jacket around her left shoulder, but needed Tobias's help to slide her right arm into the sleeve. "Can you snap the bottom few buttons, to hold it on?"

"Tris, it's not cold out."

She started to make the attempt herself; he took over for her. After his baptism-by-fire in the bathroom, meeting her needs had become second nature. Regardless of the weather, he wouldn't argue with her if she wanted him to find her a parka. Still, it saddened him that she didn't believe in Dauntless enough to walk in with her head held high.

"Can you put the loose sleeve in the pocket? Please," she added when he raised his eyebrow. She needed to cover up her injury as much as possible.

Tobias puffed out the sleeve so it didn't look flat and kissed her forehead. When his lips connected, she paused and let her head linger against him for two breaths before disengaging to lift her messenger bag up and over her head. She tried to keep the strap from settling in the wrong place, but it pressed into her brace and the stitches beneath. Tobias took it from her and slung it over his shoulder instead. He also picked up the bottle of pills and held them out towards her; she walked right past him towards the door. He cleared his throat to call her attention back. He had a suspicion he needed to confirm.

"Have you seen the drops? You should have them for after this week. I don't want you to forget them." She opened the door and didn't make eye contact. He thrust his arm out to keep it from opening all the way. "Tris, why aren't you telling me where the drops are?"

She brought her eyes to his and wiped her palm on her pants. "Because I took a dose with breakfast."

"What?" Her chin dropped. His thumb pinched at the bridge of his nose in an instinctual motion, but behind his fingers, Tris's head didn't stay level. He didn't mean for his tone to shame her.

"It's the last time. I just don't want to lose it in front of leadership."

He suppressed the urge to start a fight. A lecture from him at that moment would flash through one ear and out the other, so he sought to mitigate the situation by restricting her access. "Can I have them?"

"They're in the bathroom." Tris pushed past him and out into the hallway. He knew she'd leave him if he didn't follow her to the elevator. He was also certain the drops weren't in the bathroom. They were probably in the bag hanging by his side, but searching through her things leapt over a line a few doses of painkiller didn't call for. He locked her apartment door and met her at the elevator.

He watched her while they waited, and decided to appeal with reason. Maybe the little Erudite nose inside of her would listen. "What the doctor said, about the infections, that sounded pretty serious."

"I could get an infection from a cold. This is nothing new," she dismissed, and amused herself by kicking her toe into his.

Tobias opened his mouth to protest, but he could already sense her defenses going up. The carriage began moving, and his arm shot out to the wall. He really wanted her face as a distraction, but she hadn't looked at him since her first lie. He tried changing the subject to something less confrontational. "So, what kind of job you picking?"

Tris scowled. He couldn't think of anything more neutral than jobs and he needed something other than the walls to focus on. A small movement caught his eye; her rhythmical rubbing of her palm on her pants helped a little for the descent to the ground floor. He attempted to snag her fingers when they hit the pavement, but they were wet and slippery. She wiped them again and again, too nervous to hold his hand.

"Relax. It's just a formality. They voted you in and you've already made the decision. That's the hard part."

He found every opportunity to rest his hand on her back to try and put her at ease. She stayed quiet, glancing at the members on the train: three women and two middle-year kids. For a minute she hoped they'd have a little company on the walk from the train station, but of course, even the kids in Dauntless managed to get on and off moving trains.

After all her years of watching them at school, she shouldn't have let her hopes rise up. Humiliated and embarrassed, she disembarked with Tobias at the last stop and the others continued on, preparing to make a jump she'd never view as routine again.

Tris slowed as they progressed from the last train stop towards Dauntless. She grimaced and took labored breaths as the entire world became smaller and warmer, like the buildings had moved three feet closer together. Her ears hollowed out and every sound was just a tinny echo.

Tobias stepped in front of her and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and spoke but it sounded muffled. He squatted down to be on level with her; she didn't realize her knees had bent until her hand on the ground steadied her.

Constricting panic started to spread and blur her surroundings. Everything darkened except his face. She could focus on his face. He had a patch on the corner of his right jaw where his beard didn't grow evenly, and at a few days without shaving, it still looked bare. She examined the creases in his skin, from above his chin and to the right of his lip. His hollow cheek — a condition she'd commanded into existence — stretched tight, then softened.

A year prior, his face had been a solid, stoic mask. A year had worn on his face like two seasons in the sun at Amity. The cost of war, the cost of her. His muscles moved with his concerned words, but they only hummed in her ear. She searched out meaning from his deep blue eyes and the crow's feet that had begun to splay out from the corners. A little white fuzz of lint was stuck in a curl that spiraled from his forehead.

"Do you need to rest for a second?" His four-fingered hand passed in front of her eyes as her ears popped back to life. His left hand was holding onto her shoulder like she might still topple over.

She sighed in relief when a cool breeze pushed the heat away from her. Light started filtering in and her focus expanded.

"Are you okay?" He said it a few times before she managed to nod.

"I just felt… I felt sick," she murmured, and shook her head clear of the fog.

"We can go to Janice first."

Explaining how the mere task of walking to Dauntless had overwhelmed her didn't seem like a great start to her new life. She needed to avoid Janice's scrutiny for as long as possible.

"No, I'm fine. It was just a second. It's passed. I'm okay." Tris stood and walked forward, still shaky on her feet.

Four tried to slow her down, his hand still on her shoulder. "Take a minute."

"Don't want to keep leadership waiting."

She pushed ahead, the symptoms of her panic attack slowly subsiding. Her disregard for her wellbeing tested Tobias's restraint, and regardless of what she wanted, he made up his mind to talk to Janice about what he'd seen.

* * *

Tris sat alone in front of the slightly dusty desk. Except for one folder and a struggling potted plant, it was devoid of any indication of inhabitance. The meeting would be private, just Tris and a leader.

Tris rummaged for a moment and seized the drops from a bottom pocket of her bag. She debated taking more, but the doctor's warning about infections resonated in the back of her mind. The pain in her shoulder was remaining steady, a dull twinge that distracted her from her nerves. A silver lining, as long as it didn't get much worse.

The ventilation kicked on and a soft burst of air had the sweat chilling on the back of her neck. She heard voices outside the door and held her breath, hoping for a fast meeting, but it was a false alarm. She turned the bottle over in her fingers and debated for a while before putting it back in her bag and waiting in silence.

She expected Scout because she had been the one observing her drills, but instead Fiona entered, smiling and ready to put her at ease.

"Tris, sorry you had to wait. Meetings! They never end on time." She held out her hand expectantly. Tris quickly swiped her palm down her pant leg before shaking it. "I was sad to hear you got injured. Is everything going to be okay?"

Her first words were garbled by phlegm in her throat; she apologized before continuing. "I should be fine. It'll take time, about a year, but I'm optimistic."

"Good, I'm glad to hear it. But a year?" Her tone instantly put Tris on edge. Fiona flipped open Tris's file to a page where a black outline of a body carried every one of her marks. "I didn't realize the extent of your injuries. It umm... wow. I've never met someone that should be dead before. I didn't even notice your scars. I still can't see them." A sick flutter disturbed her stomach as Fiona leaned in to examine her exposed collarbone.

"They're there," Tris muttered and pulled the jacket collar closed.

"Can't tell. It's amazing the medicine they have. The medicine we don't." Tris didn't miss the bitter tone. The subtle accusation that they were still not to be trusted.

"Okay, so your drills. Well... one thing you'll have to work on no matter what is your shooting. Unless you're missing both hands, you have to shoot. And your scores were not great. So that's an area I expect you to focus on. Amar has suggested that instead of climbing you be measured on running different distances for endurance. He'll probably throw in some sort of obstacle course as well. I think that's agreeable, and we can reassess when you have clearance from a doctor to use your arm. I've added first aid training. Not everyone gets it, but I think they should. Since you can't patrol, you should at least be able to assist if anyone comes back injured.

"So, jobs. There is a need for administrative staff at the fence, and we're opening a central patrol station in the city center when this year's initiate class comes into the fold. To be in line with that, I've made it a requirement for you to spend forty days at the fence and forty days at the city station, on a rotational schedule with other admins. Unless you were thinking of selecting a position on maintenance or facility security?"

"I, umm... I have a job already. I work for the central government."

Fiona raised an eyebrow; it put butterflies in Tris's stomach. "You're a member, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good, because members support the faction. Otherwise, we have no faction. There is no rule, though, that says you can't use your personal time if you want to take on another job. Here's the list of positions you qualify for, ordered by our needs and your skills. You must choose one or more positions so your time total is at least three quarters."

She slid the sheet forward and Tris glanced through her options. Leadership Support drew her eye immediately. She quickly dismissed the Nursery and moved on to various jobs that all sounded like the same thing: Facility Security Administration, Fence Administration, Factionless Staff Supervisor. Each option had fractions next to them.

"Is that what the fraction means? The time total?"

"The fraction is an estimate of how much of your work time is needed to fill the open responsibilities. It can and will change. It could be over- or underestimated depending on the season or be affected by other events. I suppose you missed the spiel last fall. You have roughly forty-five to fifty hours of work for the faction each week. More or less, depending on what's going on. Then the rest of the time is yours for training, relaxing, and socializing."

"Do you have a better description of these?" Tris asked.

"They're not that complicated. Which ones are you considering?"

"I guess, Infirmary Staff, or Membership Instructor, or Leadership..."

"Only a handful are being considered for our Leadership path. It requires a third rank or higher. Really, the best of us. It gets members involved with running the faction, working for leaders, and sort of preps you for eventually becoming a leader yourself."

"There's a vacancy? Was it offered to Four?"

"Four has an open invitation, and he knows it. If you decide to take a leadership position, will that cause an issue in your relationship?" Fiona said it with an indifferent sweetness, but Tris saw something more conniving in the crease of her eyes, like a cat watching prey.

"No."

"So you'll do it then?"

"I mean, I guess. Why is it only a half?"

"Well, we have five leadership positions, all member-voted. Working in Leadership Support doesn't guarantee an actual position in leadership anymore. So, we're emphasizing learning other skills as an alternate career path. If it becomes clear that you'll not be supported by the members for a position, you then have the choice to pursue your alternate on a full time basis. Or, you can continue to serve in Leadership Support for your entire life. That choice is mostly yours."

"Mostly? Okay. What if I take two jobs that add up to more than one?"

"Then I guess you won't have time for your little government side projects."

Tris sighed, glanced at Food Service, and imagined herself behind the counter and up early in the morning to make breakfast. All the thankless people walking past without more than a point and a grunt.

"Okay, then, leadership and infirmary."

"There's a good girl. Welcome to Dauntless. We're very happy to have you here. Scout will be your commanding officer. She outranks Janice, who will be your supervisory officer while you are performing your infirmary duties. An order from Janice is to be respected as long as it is not in conflict with an order from Scout or any other leader. Your rank will be based on your performance within the Leadership Support role. All this will be explained a bit better by Scout and Janice." She stood quickly and began pulling things from different folders within the desk. "And consider this your one-on-one; you won't need another."

Fiona finished writing in Tris's folder and flipped it shut. She handed Tris a couple sheets of paper and walked around the side of the desk, drawing Tris up and toward the door.

"What do you mean one-on-one?"

"Don't worry about it. You'll see soon enough. Here's your handbook." Fiona slapped a thin, soft-bound set of papers on top of the papers in her hand and opened the door for her. Fiona gently pushed on her lower back, and the door shut immediately after she crossed the threshold.

Tris's head spun as she replayed the whirlwind conversation and the drastic changes. She regretted having to leave her role at the government. It was the last sacrifice she had to give. There was nothing left. It was Dauntless or nothing. Tobias or nothing. She looked back towards Harrison's empty office; Tobias must have gone downstairs.

* * *

Harrison had spent ten minutes lecturing about protocol and procedure, and none of it was wrong, so Four tried his hardest not to react. He listened. He nodded. He apologized. He vacated quickly and without a fuss.

Four could see Tris in the office with Fiona, looking apprehensive and questioning. That look on her face made him nervous. He meandered down to the training room like they'd discussed, and was quickly intercepted by Amar.

"I told Harrison where you were. It's his own damned fault if he didn't cover the shifts."

"The request has to come from the individual, you know that. And he knows you reminded me. He probably covered the shift, but still, I didn't do what I was supposed to."

"Before all this, before I left, Harrison could give two shits about the rules."

"He wasn't a supervisor before you left. Maybe that changed things for him."

"Well, one thing's for certain, he's busting everyone's balls about what's in the damned handbook. Did you read the initiation section like I asked?"

Four glanced sideways at Amar. "I've been a bit busy. I didn't exactly have it in my pocket when I left for the hospital."

"Four, this is serious, we have less than five days." Amar started a summary of his interpretation of the revised handbook, and then his strategy for some alterations and changes to the standard initiation schedule. Then he launched into a list of rules the central government placed on every faction. At first, Four found it amusing to see Amar flustered by rules. Amar loved rules. He loved structure. But he apparently liked it better being the architect. Four tried to placate, and even agreed with Amar on a few things, but without reading it himself he wouldn't sign on to Amar's campaign.

Four dodged out of Amar's Choosing Day tirade when a fight broke out across the gym and Amar paused to investigate. He ducked into the equipment room, hid behind the door for a moment, and didn't relax until Amar passed on his way to intervene.

He gathered a pile of tangled rope and coiled each piece under his elbow and over his hand until he had neat bundles to stack under the climbing wall. The repetition helped him pass the remaining time as he waited for Tris to reappear from her meeting. He watched the doorway intently and waved her over when she finally spotted him.

Four judged her body language. She wrapped her good arm around her waist and glanced around at every member she passed. She didn't look as relieved as he'd hoped she'd feel, she looked more suspicious. She gave him a small smile and let him pull her in gently for a hug. "It's done. I'm Dauntless."

He relaxed and gave her a slight squeeze. "So, job?"

"Two."

"Two? That's a one-eighty."

"Yeah, I, umm... they wouldn't let me pick just one. So, I'm going to learn to work in the infirmary and this Leadership Support role."

"Leadership Support? What's that supposed to be?"

Tris pulled back. "I didn't get many details. Fiona said they offered it to you."

"Nope, but I don't want it, so it doesn't matter." His hands came down to her hips and his smile stretched his cheeks in a refreshing way. "From factionless to two jobs in Dauntless? I think that requires a celebration."

Tris avoided looking him in the eye. He knew she saw it as being forced into jobs that she didn't want. Celebrating what she considered a loss of independence didn't feel right, but she didn't want to disappoint him with a bad attitude. He read her easily.

"I know it's not exactly what you wanted job-wise. But it's going to be okay. You're finally home. You're finally where you belong. And we're finally okay. Just give in for a second and enjoy it," he urged. "It's been a long time coming."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She put on a determined smile and perked up. "How was your meeting with Harrison?"

"Well, it went better than I expected, but not exactly good. I earned some extra shifts and I have to get them in before initiation. So, whe—"

"Extra shifts? Really?"

"Well, yeah, I didn't exactly follow protocol staying with you the last few days."

"You got in trouble?"

He waved his hand. "It's just a formality. I didn't handle it exactly how I was supposed to and there's consequences for that. It's no big deal, not really. Just a couple night shifts."

"Starting when?

"Tonight and tomorrow, the seven to seven shift."

"And then one day until Choosing Day? When will I see you next, after initiation?" she scoffed, kicking the toe of her shoe into his.

"I will make time to see you every day, I promise. We have the rest of today until seven. Then tomorrow, I have equipment prep in the morning until noon. But I can meet you for breakfast. And we can meet up after you get off shift and before mine. You'll be sick of me by initiation."

"Okay. So a few hours today, then breakfast and the afternoon tomorrow. And then?"

"And then it's gonna be out of my hands. It's Pre-Choosing Day demonstrations and the Dauntless feast, and clean up from that. Then it's initiation. But what time there is, I'll spend it with you."

"Promise?"

"Promise. And I kind of like the idea that my time with you is limited. It'll be easier to stay focused on rebuilding what we know about each other. You know, not get sidetracked."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So, tonight, are you gonna stay with Christina?"

"Yeah. But I have to start packing and getting things here."

"See, that I can help with. I'll fit in some sleep right after shift, then round up some Pedrads tomorrow afternoon."

Tris sighed. "So it'll be you and me and Zeke?"

"I'm serious. You'll be sick of me in a couple hours and you'll be happy Zeke's there."

"Can you come to my appointment?"

"When?"

"Three, I think."

"Today? Yeah, I'll take you."

"No, tomorrow. I guess you should sleep. If Zeke's gonna help with packing, I'll see if he can go with me."

"I can go without sleep for a day."

"No, you can't. Karla should be able to take me. Then we can meet at my apartment. With all the Pedrads." The way she said Pedrad, Tobias knew she wasn't happy. He hoped her issues were with change in general.

"We'll find plenty of time for just us. But for now, how about we get some lunch? See who's in the dining hall and celebrate with friends?"

To Tobias, ensuring he saw her every day so they could talk and hold hands set the threshold for what he considered making time. He made sure he was at the doctor's office when she got out of her appointment. He helped her pack and carry boxes. He skipped out on sleep so that she wouldn't mistake his schedule as an excuse. And for the three days leading up to the Pre-Choosing Day demonstrations, he gave her every spare minute he could find.

Tris couldn't put a finger on why his efforts didn't fully satisfy her. Part of her wondered if being Dauntless meant accepting snapshots of him, mostly at his most exhausted, while another tried to remind her that he would be busiest during initiation and the craziness would die down afterwards.

Between the brief bursts of his attention, she had everyone else, eager to induct her like she should have been a year before. Her confidence had been shaky at first, but heading into the final days of preparations, she felt better about them, about her friends, and about Dauntless.

* * *

**A longer author's note this post, sorry. **

**The unpleasant bit:**

To the anonymous reviewer(s):

Something New is almost complete. I never intended it to become 50+ chapters, it was supposed to stop at 14, but I carried on specifically because of reviews and the support of readers. I have loved this story in so many ways, but for a long, long time, I have not been writing it for myself.

I ask for reviews because they keep me motivated. They let me know that YOU still care and that there is still someone to write for. Because if I'm being honest, without reviews this would have been left unfinished. There would have been no point to continue if no one was reading.

So I am going to say this nicely: Guest Reviewers, please leave your review for the story/chapter itself, and nothing more. I will not publish any anonymous reviews that want to critique me as a person or how I phrase my authors notes. If you really want to leave me those kind of reviews, then you're going to have to put a name to it.

**TLDR: You can keep your personal judgements to yourself and fuck off**.

**The very pleasant, humbling request I received:**

There is far more positive things in life than negative and I am grateful, flattered, and humbled to have readers that are interested in knowing more. And because this story has been about YOU the reader, I have decided to host a live IRC chat (after the story is completed) to answer questions with anyone available to participate. I'll take that transcript and create an in depth post. But also, I'm accepting questions before that chat to be answered along with the chat questions in a post to Tumblr and Wordpress.

Afraid you can't make the IRC? If you have a question you want answered about this story, about my Divergent head-canon, about writing, and (limited) about me, please go to my profile and find a link to my tumblr and submit an ask. Or go to my profile and send me a PM through the FFN PM system. I'll include details about this Q&amp;A chat with the final chapter (should be ch53, maybe ch54). If you're reading this after the story is completed, head on over to my profile and I'm sure future me will have left you some links. :)

**As always, please let me know your thoughts about this chapter in a review. **Reviews are the fuel which propels this story forward. Please, be kind to your authors, and type out a review.


	48. CH48: Ghost Walk

**As always, never without help, alpha and beta readers: Milner and BK2U.**

* * *

Birthdays were never important to Four. Not only were they not celebrated in Abnegation, but Marcus would constantly say he wished that he'd never been born. One of his most consistent thoughts, after his panic in the dark had blended into the quiet of exhaustion, was how much better his life would have been if he'd been born a different child to different parents. Birth, for a long time, felt like the origin of his personal hell.

He never bothered to look up his official birth record. Janice had been the very first person to ever wish him a happy birthday on July thirty-first, the day before Choosing Day, one year after he made his choice to leave Abnegation. He'd been stunned and confused; he'd stared at her blankly, not knowing exactly what she'd said before an automatic thank you passed between them. He walked away, disoriented, and made it a few feet before it occurred to him to ask his age: seventeen or eighteen. Janice popped an eyebrow, informing him that he turned sixteen just before he joined Dauntless, younger than anyone else in his initiation class. At seventeen, he had his first, albeit awkward, moment of celebration — a moment when someone expressed that they were happy he'd been born.

But that wasn't what had him thinking about that first time he heard "Happy Birthday" directed at him. In Dauntless, birthdays were family affairs. Those with relations celebrated in large groups, with typical, loud exploits in the Pit or maybe adventures outside the compound to the city or the deserted, open spaces. Those without family celebrated with their friends, their surrogate family. Adopted by the Pedrads, he joined them in fervently calling out Uriah's name into the chasm and letting it echo off the cliffs surrounding the Pit. Together they whooped their way through the hallways and towards the city for a pre-dawn, family run, a screeching celebration of a kid who never saw eighteen, who never even saw seventeen, the youngest in his initiation class. A kid that almost shared his birthday. Four watched Zeke suddenly fall silent, and slow to the back before stopping completely. Four matched him and stood nearby, watching him catch his breath while slowly slipping into a crouch, then finally falling in a heap and sobbing.

Crying men make other men uncomfortable. Four bristled and gave Zeke a wide berth at first. But eventually, he reverted to his upbringing, sitting down next to him, setting his hand on Zeke's shoulder in consolation, and waited for something to change. Zeke's shoulders shook for minutes, then slowly settled down to hiccups and slower still back to breathing while he collected himself. He shifted with some embarrassment, glancing at Four and shrugging his hand off his shoulder with a laughing sigh.

"Hard day," Four commented. Zeke nodded, smearing snot down his sleeve with a snort. "You want time, or...?"

"Naw, I'm done." He slumped onto the heels of his hands and looked out at the fire-red sky. "No point in catching up now."

"Come on, I got a place we can go. I was going to take you at sunset, after dinner, but there's no time like the present." Four offered his hand, although he thought twice about the snot. If they got back early, he could make time to see Tris; she'd understand why their time got rearranged even if she'd be mad about getting stood up. They passed back through the hallways to the training center. Four hit his chip against the scanner and opened the weapons locker; he grabbed a shotgun.

"Birds aren't flying."

"Yeah, it's not for the birds." Four sucked on his teeth, checking the chamber and loading all six shots, and then put a box in his pocket. "You got your sidearm?"

"No."

Four grabbed a standard issue off the shelf and pushed it at him.

"What about you?"

"If you think I'm running anywhere in this town unarmed..." Four lifted his jacket to show his side holster. He stopped by his locker and pulled out a yellow folder, rolled it up and then took two water containers and filled them.

"Where are we going?" Zeke protested, getting only silence in return.

Four paused at the infirmary and asked Karla to tell Tris he wouldn't be meeting her for breakfast. "You know, in case she needs an escort to work."

"Sure thing, I'll find her. Where you going?"

"Just tell her I'm out with Zeke doing family things."

"Seriously, you don't have to cancel something with Tris." Zeke tried to reason with him, but Four was already heading down the hall.

Four stamping through the compound with urgency never drew much attention, but doing it with one hand in his pocket and a shotgun slung over his other shoulder earned him scrutiny and a wary distance. Zeke pursued, trying to get Four to talk, but Four didn't slow his pace. Zeke had to occasionally run a few paces to recover the ground he lost against each long stride. Zeke finally looked around and took in his location in the city. They were a fast mile away from the compound in a factionless sector rife with conflict. The heat radiated from the concrete like a three-sided oven, and the temperature climbed as they walked. He finally gave up trying to keep up and settled for a losing pace. When he made the corner, he assumed he'd see Four around the bend, gaining more ground down the street. The solid, warm mass of his best friend leaning in the shade of the building jolted him. Without the hands that grabbed his shoulders and steadied him, Zeke may have been knocked over.

"God, you're slow," Four commented.

"What is the hurry? Where the hell are we going? And what's got you so bent out of shape?"

"If I stopped, you'd yammer at me, and then we'd never get there."

"Where are we going?" Zeke glared. "I should get back, Mom's having a rough day."

"She knows I'm taking you out. Her idea." Four slapped him on the shoulder and turned again. "Now come on. It's not exactly close."

"Where are we going?" Zeke demanded.

"Yammer, yammer, yammer." Four made the talking motion with his free hand. Zeke's nostrils flared, but he followed, regardless of the silence.

The shadows grew darker, shorter; the day flipped from morning to midday and still Four's pace didn't waver. Zeke became concerned that they would run out of water just as they slipped out from the decaying buildings of the city into the open space. They were out beyond any structures, where the pavement had crumbled into pebbles beneath the overgrown plants. Zeke glanced around them, through the trees and back toward the city, seeing the tall buildings of the city center small and distant.

Four came to a stop, taking a long drink from his water. "You know how Uriah used to disappear, right?"

"Yeah." Zeke eyed him. "I told Tris about it not too long ago. Did she mention it or do you still think about it, too? I can't believe we never even got him on film."

"Not leaving the compound, anyways. Which is what you asked," Four added in defense.

Zeke glared at him, "You got him on film?" Four nodded and pointed at a camera. "You're saying he came out here? What the hell is out here?"

"It's just one of the places he'd come. He'd walk that route, exactly what we just did, all the way to here, where the buildings end and it's just concrete slabs." Four pointed and Zeke squinted, but they were a hill or so away from being able to see.

Zeke snorted a laugh. "You're kidding me? It's the middle of nowhere."

"He wouldn't come out here every time. Not always. But sometimes, he would just walk a good ways out there, sit for a bit, and then head back."

Zeke looked around, examined the path behind them for a few steps, then turned back forward and glanced around. "How do you know that? There can't be cameras all the way out there."

Four seemingly ignored him. "Why would Uriah sneak out? I just kept asking myself that. I watched him take that exact path on five separate days, all the way out until the end of the cameras. I used to do that, too, you know. I used to walk for hours when I was supposed to be volunteering or after school or whatever, just any chance to get out and be by myself. So, you know, I had to give him the benefit of the doubt that it was for a good reason. So, before I turned him in to you and Hana, I thought I'd figure it out. See why he was being so secretive. And I waited exactly at that corner like I did for you. I had to wait three nights in a row before he finally showed up."

"And?" Zeke soured more as Four dragged on.

"And he was exactly what I said, what I told you. A good kid that wasn't out being bad just because he wasn't where he was supposed to be. He just wanted a little privacy."

"Privacy for what?"

"Zeke, Uriah was Divergent."

"He was fifteen. He wasn't anything. He's a Pedrad. He's a fucking Pedrad!" Zeke shouted.

"Yeah, he was fifteen but he already knew he was different, that he wasn't just Dauntless. He actually thought he wasn't Dauntless at all."

"He's a Pedrad. We've been Dauntless for generations."

"Yeah, I know."

"Why would he tell you that, and not me?"

"He didn't want to disappoint you. He was a shitty liar, you remember. It only took a couple questions to narrow it down. I'd been through the signs with Amar a couple times, I already had my suspicions. I still had to drag it out of him. I threatened to turn him in to your mom to get him to talk." That reality made Zeke laugh. They crested the hill and looked down the gentle slope to the scant river that wound its way through the vast dry bed like a child in its parent's footprint. "So yeah, now you know. This is one of the places he'd come."

"Where else did he go?" Zeke stopped a few steps down the slope not really interested in communing with ghosts on the river bank.

"He spent a lot of time in the factionless areas, too. He talked to some of them, when they'd let him. He said he wanted to know what it was like in case it was where he ended up."

Zeke nodded, his hands on his hips while he surveyed the valley. "So, what was he? Amity? Candor?"

"Don't know. He managed to pull just Dauntless. I told him it was better to fly under the radar that way, even if it made choosing harder."

"He wasn't afraid to lie, even if he was bad at it," Zeke mused.

"Yeah, certainly not Candor," Four laughed.

"Shit grades."

"I had great grades, you won't find me in Erudite," Four pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess he didn't really do his homework. He was really nice. Maybe he was a Stiff?"

"More likely Amity, don't you think? He could have charmed the pants off Eric, if he got enough time," Four offered.

"I dunno, that might be going too far. But if you dared him he would have tried. Yeah, he was probably Amity. All the obnoxious singing!" Zeke cringed, "What about you? You really Stiff and Dauntless? Couldn't see you in Amity. Too many fucking secrets for Candor."

"I'm just Dauntless, now." Four smirked, rubbing the slick-shaved sides of his head. Zeke rolled his eyes and turned for the walk back. Zeke letting it go, not asking, not demanding something from him when he so rightfully could, made him decide to confide. "My Dad coached me to make sure I got an Abnegation result, so I'll never really know if Dauntless is me or if it's a mistake. You know, according to the Bureau, I'm not actually Divergent. I'm just weird."

"Weird is right... But you being here, being Dauntless, that's not a mistake." Four nodded his thanks and looked back out at the landscape. "Was it horrible all the time?"

"Hmm?"

"With your dad, was it always horrible?"

"No. Not all the time. Just enough. In phases, really." He downplayed; Zeke could read the omission in Four's expression. Four's history of avoiding exposing himself had always been a boundary he understood and respected. It surprised him when Four continued, "For instance, he's the one that taught me about computers. It was his dirty little secret up in the attic. And he liked cars. Fixing things. We have that in common. But that was basically the only time we seemed to get along. We'd be working on a project and it would be nice. You know? Like I felt helpful, I felt useful. Until I screwed up. And there were a million ways to screw up. But all that's over." Four shrugged and smiled.

"Yeah, everything ends: the good and the bad." Zeke gave a sad smile. "So, why are you ratting Uriah out now? You obviously didn't think it was important last year. Could have just stayed a secret."

"Because, he was your brother. And if I had better judgment he might not be dead. I owe you something for that, anything. And all I've got is a tiny bit of him that you didn't know."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Sure I do. I owe you a lot more than I can give you. I mean, not just because of what happened to Uriah. For everything. For tattoos, and dares, and pranks. And teaching me how to be a friend, and for calling me your brother and then acting like it's true. I just..."

"Four-"

"...you just haven't given up on me when you probably should have."

"Four!"

"I mean, I've given up on people for much less. It's just, I don't really des-"

"Shut the fuck up!" Zeke shouted, raising his arms up to get more attention. Four flinched and seemed to blink in vulnerable shock. Guilt took over and Zeke corrected himself, "Errr, sorry, Four, but just stop a second." Zeke grabbed his arm with a reassuring smile. His eyebrows creased together, his usual smile fixed into a serious grimace. "Now, I'm only going to say this once. Just once, and if I have to tell you this again, I'm going to literally beat it into your head. Four, you're family. I mean it. We all mean it. And family isn't ever something you deserve. Family is who you need when you need them, no matter what. You can only pay that back by being a part of it. And there's nothing you could ever do or say or fuck up that would get you treated any differently than me or Scarlet or Bern, or whoever. Okay? So stop. You're in this thing whether you like it or not, and not because you deserve it."

Four smiled softly looking down at his fingers; Zeke smacked his shoulder, harder than usual. "Okay. I think I get it. I'll let it sink in a bit." Four nodded and let a few breaths pass.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"I uh… I hate yelling. That angry yelling thing. I used to be better about not reacting, but something about this therapy crap has me flinching over stupid shit," Four explained quickly, dropping his eyes.

"I'm really sorry."

"At least you didn't throw in my name. George did that a while back and I about swallowed my tongue."

"Yeah, well, I get it's not your favorite thing to be called."

"I mean, sort of. Tris uses it." Four shrugged and smiled. "You know, it's a family name. I had an uncle or something. My mom talked about him sometimes, but I can't remember much. Both names are just strange to me. Tobias is who I never wanted to be until Tris, and Four is some guy I barely was and I hardly recognize. But, I guess maybe I'll work my way back to Tobias. Like it would be okay for family to use Tobias, but just family. Sometimes it's actually kind of nice to hear it. Sometimes it's nice not to be Four."

"You saying you want me to whisper sweet nothings to you like Tris does?" Zeke leaned in and hissed next to Four's ear, "Mmmm, Tobias!" Four smacked him and turned red. Zeke shoved him back and then let his hand settle on Tobias's shoulder, "Trust me, I'll use it sparingly and quietly until you tell me it's really what you want me to use all the time."

"Thanks." Four diverted his eyes and brought the focus back. "So, about Uriah. He'd come up here, just up over that hill. And he'd sit there and just think or sing or whatever he wanted. And some other times he'd go out and talk to the factionless, in case he couldn't land anywhere. He was trying to make himself feel better because he didn't think he was Dauntless enough. I told him that was bull, that if I could get through, so could he."

"He really thought he couldn't cut it?"

"Yeah, it was in his landscape even, in a couple ways. I had to coach him a bit at first, but he managed to control the problematic parts." Four paused and pulled a tightly rolled folder out from under his jacket. "Uriah Stewart Pedrad," he stated, flipping it open.

"His middle name was not Stewart." Zeke rolled his eyes.

"It just says "S", so I gotta make it up as I go along."

"Sydney. Uriah Sydney, that's also a family name, my dad's oldest brother — Bernie's dad." Zeke filled in, glancing at the papers, "So, what's in there? I've never seen an official file before."

"Well, normally they get digitized and shredded the day after initiation. But no one seemed to get to the shredding part. So I found this when I was cleaning up for this year. I've got notes on each initiate. It's got their fight results, shooting scores, some discussions on attitude and potential job fits. Then it's got summaries of the fears that showed up in stage two. I don't have anything on his final, I never saw it. Those notes get added at drills to the digital records."

He handed Zeke the folder. He scanned the pages nodding at some, laughing at others. "Lizards, eh?"

"Yeah, that was a weird one. Snakes, sure, that one's common — well, you know — but the lizards..."

"I used to catch them whenever I could and put them in his bed, until Dad made me stop."

"Asshole." They enjoyed laughing together. Four watched Zeke's eyes start to scan, and he felt like he needed to say something first. "Look the next one — being sick. Sometimes it's hard to articulate the fear because the image is hazy, but… basically, it was him wasting away in a bed. Like being trapped in his body with the whole family outside the door looking in through the window." Four could have slammed his own hand in the door after seeing how Zeke's face fell.

"Our dad. That's how he died, you know. Not some big bang or a stunt, like uh, Sydney or Ger. He got cancer and it didn't get caught until it was everywhere. He begged my mom to shoot him, but she couldn't. He needed help to jump the chasm because he waited until I was through initiation. I had to take one side and Uriah took the other and the whole family lined up to support him. I thought it would be easier to watch, knowing he was sick, but it was... it was gonna be hard no matter what. Sucks that that showed up in Uriah's landscape. But he didn't die like that. He wasn't in there, Four. He was gone the minute that blast hit him."

"You believe that?"

"No lines, man. No brain waves, no person. He was gone. We knew the second we walked in the room," Zeke assured, but Four would always have questions, knowing that Tris came back from nothing.

Four flipped the page, eager to distract him, "Cotton balls. Who's afraid of cotton balls?"

Zeke chuckled and pulled the sheet closer to read. "Oh, jeez. I didn't know it was that serious. I thought he just hated how they felt. It would make him cringe having to touch them or when they'd use them for shots. But a fear?" Zeke scoffed, "Always was a little bit of a drama queen."

"Sometimes the system reaches a bit," Four admitted, "He only had eight. I mean, eight is really low. So it was grasping at straws."

"So do you actually have four, or is one, like, you sitting in a pink room?"

He got an eye roll and a partial admission, "I wish."

"Hey, did you find Lynn's folder?"

"Yeah, I got them all."

"Mind if I tell Shauna? I mean, I don't know if it's anything different than the journals, but it could be. She might want to see it."

"Yeah, sure. I'll get Lynn's stuff together. I don't see the harm in it going missing. No one's going to go looking for it."

"Thanks."

Four didn't hustle them back at the same pace, allowing Zeke more time to think. A lot of emotions crashed down from his brain through his throat and into his chest. He realized that a sadness had settled into him that never really left after that trip to the Bureau. But it had faded to the background over the last year. Thinking about all the things birthdays usually marked highlighted what Uriah would never be: a smile across the table, a prank partner, the uncle to his kids. Which inevitably made him think of all the things he'd become without him: a leader in patrol, maybe a candidate for leadership, a father. He also thought about how he'd found a new brother, embraced him and filled a little bit of that void. He felt guilty for a heartbeat that Uriah might think he'd been replaced.

He glanced over at Tobias, who looked pensive and unfocused, dealing with his own thoughts and emotions. Zeke watched his friend's eyes dart out, scan, and then glass over, lost in the empty spaces. Zeke felt better making the comparisons. Uriah was Uriah, and Tobias was Tobias, and while he loved Tobias, he was not a replacement for his affable brother. And much like Uriah, Tobias kept his burdens to himself, but maybe the point of the trip wasn't to make him feel better, but to give Tobias a chance to share more about himself than he usually did. To cement the bond. And that fuzzy, unfocused look hinted at a lot of thoughts careening all at once.

"What's on your mind?" Zeke prompted.

"Nothing."

"Something."

"Well, I've been thinking about some stuff Tris and I talked about."

"Okay. Like what?"

"I uh… I'm going to marry Tris."

Zeke didn't realize his legs had stopped moving until Tobias came back to retrieve him. "What? You proposed?"

"No, not proposed. But I just... she needed to know that that's what I want."

"Is she… um… you guys get a little reckless?"

"What?"

"Is she, you know…" Zeke made a motion with his hand at his belly.

"No! Why is that your first question?"

"Well, jeez, man. No one gets married!"

"Everyone does in Abnegation."

"And you're not Abnegation anymore."

"Well, why don't people get married in Dauntless?"

"Well, they do, when they're all old and stuff. But our age? It's... all the options go away, man. Like, you... her... forever?"

"I'm not interested in options. Are you interested in options?"

"Well, no. Of course not," Zeke declared.

"So, why don't you want to marry Shauna?"

"I mean, we might. Now that, you know… but really, that's just secondary. People usually just move in together and skip all that paperwork and stuff."

"Yeah, well, I'm going to do it, someday. Give it a couple years maybe, but I don't want anyone else."

"But... you're... young. How the hell do you even stumble into that conversation?"

"Well, it was something Lauren said when she was talking me through things. That it's what Stiffs do. We get married young, have families young."

"You're no Stiff, man."

"I know, but that is what we were both raised with. So it's a starting place we have in common. She needed to know that if that's where we end up, I would leave with her if she needed to. That I would stick it out with her no matter what."

"But, she's back in, right?"

"Yeah. She was gonna come back regardless of where we stood. She just couldn't come back to me without some sort of commitment that I'd leave Dauntless with her. And if we get close enough that we get married, I'd follow her."

"Wow… getting married? Going factionless? You could just start with a plant."

Four cracked up. "Like, we're not gonna right now. Not right away. We have work to do."

"Congratulations?"

"Don't sound so happy for me." Four kept laughing. "Besides, I'm curious, you said you two might?"

"Oh, dude, long story. My mom says it's just the hormones talking, but we will see. Right now, Shauna gets whatever Shauna wants and I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Aren't we just blowing up the Dauntless stereotype?"

"Truth, man," Zeke chuckled.

* * *

**Please review. **Also, please check out my one-shot/short titled "Flashes in Memoriam".


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